It's Alive
by MoniMcCoy
Summary: Frankenstein AU. 1813, the mysterious Earl of Warwick has requested Dr. John Watson and Miss Molly Hooper's help to perform a strange experiment, to defy natural laws and make his deceased younger brother return to the land of the living. But, what are his true intentions? Why is this man so important that needs so badly be revived?
1. Chapter 1

**Hi everyone! I recently posted this on tumblr and I thought, why don't post it on Fanfiction? Frankenstein AU is really great and lovely, and Creature!batch is the most adorable thing ever the only thing I want everytime I see him is to hug him and show him that he's not alone in the world 3 Enjoy the fic please, Reviews, Follows and Favorites make me very happy! Lots of love!**

_London, 1813_

Dr. John Watson stood still admiring the imposing mansion that was behind the rusty gates. It was a manor with three floors, large rectangular windows and decorative motifs that gave it a really sinister appearence. Despite the well-known Earl of Warwick's obsession with social status and elegance, the mansion left much to be desired regarding cleanliness. It was obvious in the walls of the facade that the last good coat of paint was long time ago, and the gardens needed several arrangements because of the weeds and the banks and statues covered with mold and ivy.

John was torn between whether to enter or not. What the hell could someone as important as the pompous Earl of Warwick want from a former army doctor? He wasn't from a wealthy family, damn he wasn't even the best on his field. Why him?

"There's only one way to find out." He said to no one in particular.

With a strong push he got the worn doors of the gate opened with a plaintive squeak. A breath of fresh wind slapped his face when he put a foot in the gardens, and made him shiver. For a second he wondered what his wife would do if she was in his position.

"Probably would take a kitchen knife and prune the weeds to break through." He said with a smile.

In a hurry, he crossed the garden trying not to tangle with a branch or trip on any of the hidden roadblocks. When he reached the porch, he could not help but let out a contented sigh. The worst was over, or so he thought.

With all the courage he could have, he knocked three times on the door to indicate that he had arrived. Not even 30 seconds had passed when the front door was opened and appeared an elderly woman.

Small, with short hair and a smooth and serene expression that seemed to bring youth to her aging face. They spent a couple of awkward seconds until he finally decided to speak.

"Good morning ma'am, I'm Dr. John Watson., I was called because my services were required."  
>The woman frowned until finally remembered.<br>"Ah, of course! Follow me,dear. Mr. Holmes is waiting."

Inside, the mansion seemed even creepier than outside. The windows were closed, the curtains drawn, most of the furniture was covered with a sheet and those which were not, were quite dusty. It was like a dark abandoned house.

"I always tell Mr. Holmes, he should do some general cleaning. How is he going to woo a lady if he has this dirty house? ... what most girls of today value is a clean and cozy home ..." The housekeeper continued chattering but John did not pay much attention, he was more focused on the portraits that seemed to follow him with their gaze.

Finally, they came to a huge living room. Inside there was a woman who seemed to look with a huge intensity to a portrait hanging on the fireplace. The portrait, like the rest of the house was full of dust, but did not seem very old, it could not have more than 10 years. It represented a young man, serious-looking,with a cold look, high cheekbones and dark curly hair, everything in him smelled like danger and mystery.

The woman noticed the presence of another person in the room and jerked, a blush rising on her cheeks. She was a young woman of small stature, with hazel eyes and chestnut hair pulled in a messy bun. She wasn't a spectacularly attractive woman, but there was something about her that was just beautiful and that made her different from the rest.

"Oh I didn't know anyone else was here." She said timidly, toying with the neck frill of her white blouse.  
>"Do you work here too?"<p>

"Huh? No! Well, technically if I'm here It's because of something... although I don't really work here ... this is temporary ... I work in ... ugh, sorry I'm rambling." She said releasing an awkward laugh.

John could not help but chuckle, he liked this woman. She was like the only source of light in the dark mansion.

"May I know your name?" He asked.

"She is Miss Molly Hooper. An eminence in the field of pathology, although it is a shame that the only one who knows that is the chief of police Lestrade. The sexist view of this time is something that probably won't do any good to society. And please refrain yourself from courting her, Dr. Watson. You are after all a married man. "

John gasped when a man of elegant bearing and arrogant attitude came out of the shadows. Miss Hooper, _Molly, _he reminded himself, also looked surprised and maybe a little insecure. The Earl of Warwick Mycroft Holmes gave a half smile at her discomfort.

"I suppose both of you wonder why you are know, for years the laws of nature have laughed at science's futile tries to prove that anyone can be that 'God' that those faithful fools adore so much." He spat the word 'God' as if it was poison and continued. "What I propose is to alter some natural laws and restore life to a dead body."

They both looked at him weird. Earl or not, what he had said was crazy.  
>"What ... what you're proposing us is that we resurrect a dead man?" John asked approaching Molly in case they had to run to make a quick escape.<p>

"Well, I wouldn't indicate that in such a vulgar way, but yeah, right. That's what I want you to do."  
>"But ..." Molly began.<p>

"Please Miss Hooper, do not interrupt me.I guess you know that 10 years ago there was a major confrontation between France and England, a rather tragic event I must say. My little brother, Sherlock, whom you see in that portrait, fought and died when he was betrayed by one of his own colleagues, the well-known as the 'war hero' Professor James Moriarty. "

John could not help shuddering at the memory the battlefield. Always alert, always violence, always pain. God knows he wouldn't have lasted more than two days if he had not gone home for the shoulder injury.

"Is your brother who you want us to revive?" Molly asked, hesitating.  
>"Very sharp Miss Hooper, that's why I brought you here. Did you believe that I didn't know about your fascination with the theories of the use of direct-current electricity to stimulate nerves and muscles of the dead?" Molly swallowed and blushed.<p>

"And why am I here?" John asked clearly agitated with the subject.  
>"Isn't t it obvious? Someone has to sew the body and provide the necessary organs. And because Miss Hooper is not considered part of the scientific comunity and the society in general, she can't provide us. Fortunately the truly important organs are safely kept, we only need a stomach, a liver, a pancreas, an intestine, two kidneys and two lungs. "<p>

Molly and John looked at each other perplexed, not knowing what to say.  
>"What do you say? Do you accept the challenge?"<br>The three knew what their answer was.

* * *

><p><em>Three months later...<em>

They had managed to get comfortable in the huge laboratory that the mansion had. To perform this task, both had to to move into the house. John was left with no choice but to send letters to his beloved Mary every week, Earl Mycroft did not want anyone from outside outside knowing about this 'small' science project.

Molly had made many advances and studied several theories to revive dead flesh. She studied the different degrees of putrefaction and the conditions of such putefraction, then develop calculations that indicated the amount of electric charge required and the duration of the discharge.

Get the organs was not as complicated as it seemed, a couple of visits to several hospitals posing as an interim, was enough for John to steal them.

The real hard work was to rebuild the body that they were supposed to revive, for nearly two months John worked 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Molly sometimes came to help or to talk about the various options of resurrection. The housekeeper, called by Mycroft Mrs. Hudson, also passed by the laboratory to offer food, tea, or simply to give them encouragement. During those 3 months, Molly and Mrs. Hudson became the only human contact (excluding the letters from Mary) and his only friends. Mycroft, didn't appear, either because he was too busy with her social life or because he hated the sight of the semi descomposed body, even if it was his brother.

The corpse, Sherlock, was not so bad for a man who died 10 years ago. He was fairly well preserved, he wasn't entirely rotten and he had less open wounds than he expected, only a few in the torso and a couple on the face and skull. Thankfully most of his hair had fallen, so the seam of these wounds wasn't a major problem.

The end result wasn't so bad, He still resembled the aspect of a human, except for the ugly scars that plied the head and torso. John could also check, and to be honest he did it feeling great envy, as his reproductive organs were in good condition and spotless, as if nothing had happened.

After several weeks of hard work, the corpse was finally ready. Taking advantage of London's stormy weather, it wasn't difficult to find a day when a strong storm untied. Between John and Molly (Mycroft refused to touch the body) and with some help from Mrs. Hudson they managed to transport the corpses's heavy body from the laboratory on the second floor to the attic.

They laid Sherlock on the metallic gurney and they connected the cables on his body as Molly indicated , then covered it with a blanket and backed away as possible to avoid being struck by the lightning.

John was the only one in the goup with enough physical strength to pull the pulley and put the gurney with the body at a reasonable enough distance to be hit by lightning.

The cold coming through the roof hatch was abysmal, despite the thick green jacket Molly wore that wasn't enough to warm and protect her from the strongest storm of the history of London.

A huge lightning stroke near the bed but did not touch it,_ If this has fallen so close to him the next one will hit the target _John thought. And he was right, the next lighting hit the bed so hard that for a second they got the feeling it was going to tip over. The stretcher and the chains that held it gleamed with electricity and the pulley threatened to break because of the impact force. John was forced to take desperate measures, he put his gloves on and hurried to pull down the bed before it fell.

For a moment, the four were silent, expecting. They waited for several minutes for the electric charge of the metal to disappear and nothing happened. John, Molly and Mrs. Hudson shoulders slumped in despair, the project they had put so much effort had failed. Mycroft kept a cold killer look on both of them blaming them of the resounding failure. Molly slowly approached the body covered with the sheet and stroked it with the tips of her fingers.

"I don't understand." She said softly. "The calculations were correc-"

A hand came out from under the sheet and grabbed her wrist tightly. Molly cried, in a fit of panic and Mrs. Hudson fainted. John remained frozen in terror and Mycroft was as imperturbable as aways, but in his eyes there was something different, a spark of fear and doubt had arisen in his eyes. Mycroft Holmes had played God and now hr was going to pay dearly, getting his hands dirty with the blood of an innocent woman.

The hand holding Molly pulled her to the bed so hard that he stumbled and ended up lying on the monster's chest. In her attempt to sit down and find a way to escape his grip she ended uncovering the sheet revealing the creature and his angry face to the presents.

The monster, when the light changed on his vision roared in rage and his other hand grabbed Molly's waist, pushing her down and stamping her against his muscled chest. She struggled again against his grip, but only managed to get him to tighten his grip on her possessively.

John tried to approach them, but all he received was a loud warning growl. Desperate he turned towards Mycroft who watched the scene with great interest.

"Mr. Holmes, do something! He's going to hurt her if he doesn't let her go!"  
>Mycroft left his state of fascination and approached the couple.<p>

"I fear that my brother is obsessed with Miss Hooper, but I think I can distract him..."  
>"Do it, please!" John pleaded.<p>

Mycroft moved closer to Molly and Sherlock. The latter looked very entertained toying with one of Molly's hair strands while he kept a firm grip on her waist.

"Sherlock ..." Sherlock's head moved slightly in the direction of the sound, but preferred to continue stroking Miss Hooper's hair. Mycroft continued. "Sherlock, brother, look at me. I'm here." Though Mycroft's words were firm in his voice was a slight tremor that showed his fear.

This time Sherlock's head turned to face his brother. His eyes, which at that moment were a tone of aquamarine, narrowed and his grip on Molly increased painfully, making her gasp in pain.

"Sherlock, little brother. Don't you recognize me? It's me, Mycroft."

Sherlock seemed distrustful of his brother, but soon his eyes flashed in recognition. John took the opportunity to inject him a sedative powerful enough to knock an elephant. Sherlock roared in pain, but soon his eyes rolled to the back of his head and let sleep take place.

"My ... croft ..." Were his last words.

They waited a few seconds to catch their breath. When they made sure that Sherlock was sleeping peacefully, they released a sigh of relief.

"What are we going to do with him?"John asked.  
>"Tie him, obviously. We can't afford another slip like this. When he wakes up we'll try to reason with him."<p>

Molly was the only one who remained silent while watching the serene and relaxed face of the young Holmes. She could not help but feel guilty for her actions. What if he didn't want to be revived? What if something went wrong? Sherlock stirred on his slumber and the hand that was clutching her waist gently stroked her hip as a small smile of happiness surged on hisface. He seemed so gentle and quiet that she have no doubt at that time.

The only thing that worried her now was the reason for his resurrection. Mycroft Holmes did nothing without a purpose, everything was always calculated. But anyway, they had all the time in the world to find out, right?


	2. Chapter 2

**New chapter! I wanted to make this Ceature!Sherlock as an innocent child just like The Creature at the beginning og the play, so sweet and naive that makes you want to be his mother and pamper him. It's shorter tan the first chapter but I'll try to compensate in the next one. Reviews, Favorites and Follows show me your love! Enjoy this chapter!**

_Warm. Cold. Comfortable. Breathe. Feel. Tired. Dizzy._

He did not know why he felt so many things, but he was feeling them. The reconstruction process of his train of thought and his Mind Palace was painful. He wanted to think faster, but did not know how, he didn't even know how he was thinking, nor did he care.

He tried to speak, but nothing did come out of his mouth only an incoherent babbling and inhuman noises, he couldn't remember how to move his mouth and make any normal sounds, but he didn't seem to mind.

When he opened his eyes, he blinked several times, amazed by the simple fact of being able to move the eyelids. Everything was so new to him and yet so familiar.

There were three people in the room with him, two of them foreign to him and the other one not so, he thought his name was Mycroft.

He tried to move his hand, but he still wasn't a connoisseur of his locomotives functions and instead moved a foot. Fascinated with the limb he moved his toes while emitting a series of choking noises that were the equivalent for him to a laugh. A sudden movement of his foot, caused the chains that bounded him to break. Mycroft, and the other two people gasped and began to retreat. The sound of their gasp scared him, and began to move his limbs in all directions as he writhed on the bed.

The remaining iron chains broke and soon John grabbed Molly's hand and put her behind him, protecting her just in case 'Sherlock' decided to come back for her.

"Mr. Holmes, we should get out of here. It's obvious that he can't control himself." John whispered hoping that Sherlock couldn't hear them. Sherlock was still writhing in the sheets, acting like if he was completely oblivious to their presence.

"Don't say nonsense, Dr. Watson. Right now he's like if he had just been born."  
>Sherlock stopped squirming on the bed and after much effort, managed to grab the sheet and caressed it while emitting grunts of admiration.<p>

Trembling, he turned and stood on all fours to get off the bed. His clumsy limbs, unused to support the weight of his body, caused him to fall sideways to the ground, emitting a cry of pain.

Meanwhile, his audience watched intently how he tried to get up on a weak elbow and how he tried to get off the ground. He still didn't know how to handle his legs, wearing both legs like dead limbs while his tired arms could barely hold his body.

After several attempts, Molly observed in fascination how he incorporated and managed to keep on two feet. His legs shook like if they were two puddings and to maintain the balance he kept them separated to a distance of one meter (which was no problem because of the length of his legs) Also, he had to lean against the headboard of the bed to keep him from falling.

Hesitantly, he stepped forward. Then took another, this time with more confidence. Walking like a baby, he managed to advance while emitting gutural sounds of happiness.

These developments prompted John and Molly to recede further. It was then, when the monster realized their presence and wobbly walked toward them with a goofy grin.

He wasn't ready to walk for long distances and soon his members failed, making him stumble and fall. How unfortunate that he fell on Molly.

The poor woman didn't have time to scream, when her and Sherlock's bodies hit and both fell to the ground, she stiffened and did not move a muscle. Sherlock meanwhile seemed unaware of her discomfort. He was happily sniffing her hair and drooling it while a series of primitive thoughts plowed through his head.

_Warm. Soft. Small. Smell good._

Between John and Mycroft, they managed to take him away from her. Molly quickly stood and carefully watched Sherlock, who was sitting on the floor, each of his arms was held by John or Mycroft and looking up with an expression of confusion. Or with a grimace that represented that.

"How can it be that now he behaves as if he was a newborn? When he awoke he could perfectly handle his body." Molly asked rubbing the bruises on her wrist that were beginning to turn an ugly shadow of yellow.

"You have to understand, Miss Hooper that he had just been revived by a lightning, that gave him the strength and energy needed to ... assault you." Mycroft said with a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"You should put ice on the hip and wrist Molly. If the bruises on the wrist look bad, I don't want to even imagine how are healing the ones on your hip."

Molly nodded and gave John a grateful smile. Sherlock meanwhile, looked from one person to another and tried to talk to them, but failed miserably.

Molly apologized, saying she had to go see how Mrs. Hudson was doing and hurried from the room. Sherlock gasped and shook hands, confused by the departure of the woman.

"Well, now what?" John said, glancing at the creature whose arm was holding.

"I'm afraid that my brother has proved to be a complete idiot and he will have to recover all the lost knowledge." Mycroft replied letting go of Sherlock's arm, causing him to fall on John's side.

And who will do that? You?" John didn't believe for a second that Mycroft was willing to re-teach his younger brother all the things he had forgotten. Mycroft Holmes was not that kind of people.

"Well, since you, Doctor, are too busy with your beloved wife, whom you have surely missed, you don't leave me another option but to give this task to Ms. Hooper."

"Molly? Why her?"

"Look at my brother." They both looked at Sherlock, who was looking at the door attentively with a longing look, awaiting Molly's return. "Obviously being the first person he saw, he has some 'affection.' for her. If the old Sherlock could see himself now, he would be disgusted. Him, fond of a woman, ha!. I fear that my brother's opinion of women and romantic relationships has always been very poor. "

John tilted his head, puzzled.  
>"So... was he ...?"<br>Mycroft snorted.

"No, God. He just considered it as a disadvantage and a distraction from what really mattered, his work."  
>"What did he do for a living?"<br>Mycroft chuckled.

"Oh, you would have loved that. He was a 's only consulting detective, he invented the job. How many adventures you would have lived together if you had met before." John could not help but notice the nostalgic glow in Mycroft's eyes.

"Molly is probably the most qualified to provide him a properly education. I've seen her work during these three months. She's a really brilliant woman."  
>"I know." Mycroft said. "That's why I chose her between lots of professionals to do this job."<p>

* * *

><p>The first thing John did when Mycroft left the room was going to the closet to get a couple of clothing to dress the giant man-child. Occasionally he casted a sidelong glance at Sherlock, who was quite entertained drooling his own foot as a baby would do. John could not help smiling. Despite his frightening appearance, the man was like a toodler, everything impressed him and everything he saw he had to put it on his mouth. He pulled a baggy gray shirt with long sleeves, and a pair of matching pants. He decided it was best not to get shoes, Sherlock could barely stand by himself and shoes would probably be very uncomfortable for him.<p>

_Barefoot then._ John thought.

Dressing him was a real battle. Sherlock kept moving and pulling his hair. At one point (John never knew how he managed it and he swore to God he would never tell that particular anecdote to anyone) he pulled down John's pants leaving him in his underwear.

After several minutes of struggling he finally got him to be presentable and with a happy sigh, he collapsed in bed letting out a happy sigh. John could not help but laughing when Sherlock did the same and collapsed on the bed with his own version of the happy sigh that rather resembled a growl.

"Lets go. You've been dead for ten years, you must be starving." He said passing one arm by his shoulders to help him walk.

* * *

><p>In the living room of the first floor, Mrs. Hudson had prepared tea and cookies. Mycroft and Molly were nowhere to be seen, he probably would be communicating her about her new role in the experiment. Sherlock looked really hungry and tried to get more of the cookies on his mouth causing the majority of them to fall to the ground.<p>

John poured some tea while they waited for Molly and Mycroft to appear. Sherlock impatiently grabbed the kettle boiling and got his fingers burned. Screaming in pain he dropped the kettle to the floor, John managed to catch it in time and also got his fingers burned but he could put it on the table in a more delicate way.

"Don't be impatient." He repressed him while serving him a cup. The control of Sherlock's hands was no better than his legs' and more than once he almost spilled the cup. A small hand managed to stop him.

"There, drink." Molly said as she approached the cup to his lips to drink.  
>While he drank (and most of the tea fell from the corners of his mouth), she ran a hand down his back, tracing intimate circles with her fingertips. Sherlock, the moment when he was touched, shuddered and let out a startled grunt, throwing the cup to the ground, shattering it into a million of pieces.<p>

"Hush, hush, you don't have to be scared. I'm just caressing you. See? It doesn't hurt." She said softly to calm him.

Sherlock's eyes were closed and leaned into her touch, visibly relaxed. Molly smiled sweetly and handed him another cup of tea.  
>"Take mine."<p>

Sherlock, making a sound that might have seemed grateful grabbed the cup with trembling hands and continued to drink like an animal. Mycroft, who had suddenly appeared, and John watched from the living room's entrance.

"That is why I believe that Ms. Hooper will be the best person for this task. Look at them, my brother completely adores her and her intelligence is far superior to the average. Definitely, this woman has the ability to appear to be boring and simple when in fact she has lots of juicy hidden secrets. "

John took a sip from his own cup of tea and looked at Mycroft warily.

"Mr. Holmes, something tells me that his resurrection has nothing to do with the brotherly love you have for him. Why is it? is there something you're not telling us?"

Mycroft chuckled as a dangerous glitter plowed his look.

"My dear Dr. Watson, when the time comes the truth will come out. Now, all we have to worry about is that Ms. Hooper will kick my brother out of that pit of stupidity which he has gotten himself in."


	3. Chapter 3

**New chapter! Sorry it took so long! I apologize for my mistakes in grammar and vocabulary, I'm Spanish and I'm still looking for a beta. Reviews, favorites and follows show me your love, enjoy!**

**I don't own anything :,(**

The dawn's light crept through the curtains and spoiled Molly a perfect dream. She dreamed that she was finally recognized by the scientific community and she recieved a prize, but the bad part of dreams is that they will never be real. With a grunt she got up and opened the curtains.

"Fucking sun..." She mumbled.

In half an hour she got dressed and was moderately decent to begin her first day in the noble art of 'teaching'.

The Earl of Warwick's mansion was not only extremely sinister and neglected , it was also infuriatingly big. In the three months she had lived there, she had only been in the lounge on the first floor and in the laboratory. She had barely been on her room, she always slept in the laboratory because of the rush they had to end this project. More than once she got lost wandering through the endless corridors, trying to find Sherlock's room, despite having been there the day before (She still didn't know the road very well). Finally, after many closed doors and many minutes of wandering aimlessly, she managed to find it.

The door opened with a slight creak, inside the room was in total darkness because the thick curtains prevented the entry of any ray of sun in the room. Molly couldn't see anything in the dark and felt a pang of fear for it, only God knew what Sherlock could do with his prey if she couldn't see him.

From one corner of the room she could hear someone snoring lightly. Molly hurried over to the windows and drew the curtains a little so the room could be lighter.

Sherlock was there, asleep in a kind of nest that he had made with his own bed sheets. Sherlock grumbled a little when the light hit his eyes and turned to go back to sleep.

"Come on, sleepyhead. It's time to wake up." Molly giggled. Sherlock whined plaintively. Molly raised an eyebrow and shook his shoulder.

"Come on, wake up Sherlock."

A hand lazily stretched to grab her wrist, this time gentler, and yanked her with enough force to put her into the nest with him. Molly let out a gasp and grabbed onto him to keep banging her head against something.

"SHERLOCK!" She squeaked.

It was a really weird scene. She, lying on his lap as he nuzzled her chest. And it didn't matter that it was the first time that someone made that to her or that it felt very good, Sherlock wasn't in possession of his mental faculties and that would be like taking advantage of a little boy.

After a couple of minutes she finally managed to sit up and Sherlock reluctantly released her.

Molly held out her hand to help him up. Sherlock took it hesitantly and stood. The height difference between them was really big, to the point of having to risk to suffer from torticollis to look at his face.

Sherlock cocked his head, looking at her curiously.

"Sh ... Sh ... Sher ... Sherlo ..." He tried to say.

"Yes, that's your name, Sherlock. Repeat with me, Sher-lock."

He bit his lip and tried to imitate her the best he could.

"Sher ... lock ... Sssherlock." He dragged the 's' as if it were the most fascinating consonant in the entire world.

Molly smiled at him and stroked his arm, Sherlock gave her a toothy smile.

"Very well! Now repeat my name, is Molly. Mo-lly." She said encouragingly.

"M... Mmm ... Molly ..." He said after doing a big effort. "Molly ... Molly ... Sherlock ..." He continued excitedly.

"Well, at least you know a few words now. Come on, Sherlock. Let's have breakfast."

And taking his hand, she led him out of the room and into the living room below, where breakfast was waiting.

* * *

><p>Breakfast was less difficult than she expected, Sherlock seemed to have gained more control of his body, and managed to not mess it all. After breakfast, Molly decided they could walk around the gardens since it was a lovely sunny day.<p>

Despite the poor state in which the front gardens were, the back seemed more maintained and clean. The small courtyard was surrounded by dried roses, and had a pond of murky water with a stone bench beneath the shade of an old willow.

Trying not to trip over any stone, she led him to the bench and they sat together, enjoying the view.

"It's a sinister garden, but I think it has a certain charm, don't you think?"

He didn't answer, he was too busy looking around. Everything that he put his eyes on was something new for him. From the sun, to the flowers, clouds, weeds and pond of dirty water included. Everything was so strange and incomprehensible to him.

A strange and tiny yellow flying creature emerged from the weeds and startled him. With his right hand he tried to scare it, while his left arm snaked around Molly's waist to draw her to him, in a futile attempt to protect her from the 'threat'.

A small hand gripped firmly but gently his right hand, preventing him from attacking this small 'threat'. Sherlock growled in frustration and tried to take advantage of his inhuman brute force to keep attacking that yellow thing, but he stopped when another hand began to stroke his back soothingly.

"It's a butterfly, don't be alarmed. It's completely harmless, it won't hurt us." Molly said with her thumb tracing circles smoothly in the palm of his hand.

"Bbut... butter... fly..."

"That's it. My father used to tell me when I was little that people formerly believed that butterflies were mythological creatures with supernatural powers, like fairies."

Molly felt a nostalgic rush, remembering her father. The good Dr. Hooper had always been an honest man, unwilling to let anything to saddened him, not even the death of Molly's mother when she was three. He was always a man who smiled and helped those in need, regardless of their social class or money. Molly had only seen him sad once, and that was when he was dying of cancer, on his bed, when he thought no one was looking. From that moment Molly realized that her father was the most selfless person on the planet, willing to hide his own pain just to make everyone happy.

"Father." Sherlock started, looking at her intently. Not her eyes, but the tear that had rolled down her cheek. She quickly wipped it when she noticed.

"Yes, father. It is along with your mother, who takes care of you since you are born until you get older."

He seemed to consider her words for a moment.

"Father ... Mother ... Mycroft?"

She laughed.

"No, Mycroft is not your father or your mother, he's your brother. That means you have the same parents."

"Brother ... Mycroft ..."

"They are your family"

"Fa ... Family ... Father ... Mother ... Mycroft... Molly ..."

"No, I'm not your family." She corrected him. For a second Sherlock actually pouted and looked at her with sorrowful eyes, like a wounded puppy. Molly was so embarrassed and shocked that she tried to make him feel better.

"But I'm your friend."

Sherlock's eyes shone with an emotion that Molly could not decipher.

"Fr... Frrr... Frrr... Frrrienddd ... Mollyyy ..." He said, and didn't stop repeating it for two minutes.

* * *

><p>After spending almost an hour admiring the deteriorated landscape and its putrid aroma, they finally got up and marched to the library. The trip wasn't very easy, truth be told. Sherlock got distracted by anything, no matter how trivial and simple that was, and besides controlling him Molly had to be careful and avoid getting lost in the long hallways of the mansion.<p>

When they finally reached the library, Molly's jaw dropped. The room was huge, large cedar shelves reached to the ceiling and every one of them was completely filled with books, all sorted by publication date, subject and the importance of the author. If she hadn't been so awed, Molly would have wept tears of happiness.

Sherlock, on the other hand didn't seem very interested in books and knowledge. What really attracted him was the enormous height of the shelves, and more than once he wondered if he could climb them, and if they would be able of supporting his weight without tipping to one side.

Rummaging among the books, she found a copy that caught her attention, it was very old and a little run down, but it seemed to be in perfect condition and ready to be read.

"Sherlock, come here. Look at this."

He obeyed and went to see what she was holding. It seemed one of those things which that room was filled, but much dirtier.

Molly led him into a corner to sit in one of the armchairs. Sherlock sat on the floor expectantly.

"This was one of my favorite books as a child. It's called Paradise Lost, would you like me to read you a little?"

Sherlock nodded.

"_Of Mans First Disobedience, and the Fruit of that Forbidden Tree, whose mortal tast brought Death into the World, and all our woe, with loss of ___Eden___, till one greater Man restore us, and regain the blissful seat. Sing heavenly Muse,that on the secret top of ___Oreb___, or of ___Sinai___, did inspire that Shepherd, who first taught the chosen Seed, n the Beginning how the Heav'ns and Earth Rose out of ___Chaos___: or if ___Sion ___Hill. Delight thee more, and ___Siloa___'s Brook that flow'd Fast by the Oracle of God; I thence Invoke thy aid to my adventrous Song, That with no middle flight intends to soar Above the ___Aonian ___Mount, while it pursues__Things unattempted yet in Prose or Rhime. And chiefly thou o spirit, that dost prefer before all temples th' upright heart and pure, instruct me, for thou know'st; thou from the first wast present, and with mighty wings outspread dove-like satst brooding on the vast Abyss and mad'st it pregnant: what in me is dark Illumin, what is low raise and support; that to the highth of this great Argument i may assert Eternal Providence, and justifie the wayes of God to men.._."

Sherlock listened attentively and repeated those words that seemed more interesting for him or those that Molly told him to repeat. Molly was impressed, despite having the personality of a little boy and have been revived a couple of days ago, his brain began to show signs of belonging to an adult man. Obviously, this process would have been easier with a man of average intelligence, however, the intellect of men Holmes was well known to be a superiority that was almost frightening. On the streets many times the Earl of Warwick himself was criticized for his reputation of know-it-all and his unfortunate hobby of looking over his shoulder at the people he considered inferior or unworthy. Molly had no idea about how the youngest of the Holmes brothers would really be, as she saw him in the portrait, he seemed to be almost as cold and ruthless as his older brother.

A light weight in her lap snapped her out of her thoughts, Sherlock was resting his head on her lap while he stared absently at one of the shelves. He looked so young and innocent that it gave Molly hope to be able to change his personality. Long ago he had been a great man, perhaps she could turn him into a good man.

* * *

><p>Days passed and Sherlock, although he learned quickly, didn't seem to entirely recover his lost memories. John Watson often passed over there for a visit, he and Sherlock soon became good friends. Everything was going fine, until one day everything changed.<p>

It started like an ordinary day, John was visiting and he and Sherlock were talking about what he had learned that week. Molly however, had taken the opportunity to further explore the many rooms of the mansion.

On her search, she came across what looked like a music room. There was an old dusty piano in the middle of the room and several busts of famous composers like Beethoven or Schubert.

She gently ran her fingers over the keys of the piano, wiping some dust.

Accidentally, she touched one of the keys causing the corresponding note to sound. The fact that the room was completely empty and had an effect of echoing didn't help her much. Within seconds she heard the heavy footsteps of bare feet approaching into the room.

"Molly!" Sherlock burst through the door, followed by John who was panting.

"Molly ... thank ... thank goodness ... we have ... phew ... we have found you ... Sherlock was very nervous when he saw that you were gone." He said trying to catch his breath.

"I'm really sorry John, but in my exploration I discovered this room. As a child I always liked the music."

"My parents put me in piano lessons when I was just a child, it was one of the most boring things I have ever done in my life." John laughed.

"Can you play for us? Can you play something? Please?" Molly insisted.

"Well, it's been a long time since I last played, but I guess trying won't hurt anyone." John said approaching the piano.

After playing several notes, John finally got to play a somewhat deteriorated version of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. Molly looked at Sherlock, who seemed to be humming the tune.

"Will you dance with me?" She asked him.

Sherlock tilted his head to one side.

"I do not know how to dance ..."

Molly smiled and took his hand.

"Don't worry, I'll teach you. First, put your right hand on my waist." He obeyed, trying to control his strength, "Now, I put my hand on your left shoulder and I'll caught your left hand with my right."

Once both were situated Molly led him around the room, both found a suitable pace to not step on the other's feet. John was surprised to see how they were synchronized as if they were made for each other.

Someone clearing his throat attracted his attention and the music stopped. Mycroft was standing in the doorway, watching them seriously.

Sherlock let go of Molly and continued exploring the room. There was something that caught his eye, in a corner,behind a bust of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, was a small instrument covered by a sheet. When he uncovered it, he discovered with astonishment that it was a violin.

"This sounds familiar ..." He muttered.

He remembered beautiful melodies and compositions being played on that violin, he remembered Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft complaining about the noise, he remember that in another life that instrumnet was very important to him.

Molly and John looked cautiously at Mycroft Holmes. He didn't seem happy, but neither seemed to be angry, something serious must be happening then.

"Did something happen, Mr. Holmes?" Molly asked, fearing she had done something wrong.

Mycroft didn't respond in a minute, which made them even more nervous.

"Yes." He finally said. "I'm afraid I have bad news."


	4. Chapter 4

**So here it is! A new chapter of the story, in a few days I'll have the next one. Still looking for a beta so I'm really sorry for my mistakes. Reviews, favorites and follows show me your love and make my day, Enjoy :D **

**New A/N: I decided to change the rating to M. Yes, there's going to be sex, I don't know how, when or who is going to have sex, but there'll be sex.**

The silence inside that room was frightening. Molly and John remained stiff as boards, fearful of what the Earl of Warwick could tell them. Had a new war bursted? Did he regret the resurrection of his brother and now he wanted him dead? Or worse, had the townspeople discovered their project and now they were going to condemn them to death for 'witchcraft'?

Both prayed that it wasn't any of the latter two. A war was something that could be solved with money or a few battles, but killing someone or being killed by furious townspeople was not something they thought very nice.

Sherlock was sitting in a chair, facing Mycroft, not understanding what he was exactly doing there. What did his brother want from him? Had he done something wrong? Didn't he learn fast enough for his liking?

Mycroft walked into the small closet that was near the window and poured a glass with whiskey, he took a small sip of hard liquor and grimaced. Then with the glass of whiskey still in his hand, he approached them very seriously.

"How can it be that my brother, being one of the great minds of the world, is still with amnesia and without his deductive skills?" He demanded to know.

Molly and John looked uncertain and Molly dared to speak.  
>"Well, I'm afraid that it will take some time until he recovers all his skil-"<p>

"Don't you realize the gravity of the situation? Professor James Moriarty is whom we're talking about." They didn't seem to completely understand and Mycroft waved his arms wildly in the air in frustration, a characteristic that he shared with his little brother.

"Excuse me, Mr. Holmes, but, could you explain what exactly happens with this James Moriarty that makes him so feared?" John asked.

"Moriarty is a psychotic criminal with an insatiable hunger for power. His money and intelligence have made him a dangerous and a highly respected man in society. He uses his money and power, taking advantage of his 'war hero' title to influence the low class and the upper class people. He has bought and blackmailed almost all members of the British parliament to agree to declare war to Europe! is a fully suicide mission! "

" And, what can we do about it?" Molly asked, alarmed. If there was something Mycroft was well known, was his cold and unemotional character, but this time he seemed really nervous and stressed.

"I thought maybe my brother could stop him, he is the only one with an intellectual capacity and impulsivity to rival those of Moriarty. But obviously my brother is not in condition to face him."

Sherlock cocked his head in confusion while his eyes grew wide.  
>"But Mycroft, how can I confront him if I don't know him? And I don't even hate him, brother. Hurting others is not right, brother." He said with pure innocence.<p>

That was the straw that broke the camel's back, Mycroft could not handle this anymore. If he didn't remember by fair means, he would remember by foul means. He gripped the umbrella beside him and hit Sherlock hard, causing him to fall from the chair to the floor, with a bruise on his cheek.

"Brother? Brother?! You're not my brother Look at yourself, Sherlock! You are pathetic! What happened to the bright and cold detective I knew? You're just a lump of meat full of feelings ! A weak and useless creature! "He yelled as he strike him with the umbrella.

Sherlock whined and screamed in pain. Molly tried to separate the two brothers, but a simple look from Mycroft left her frozen in place.

"Why don't you remember?! Did you erase from your stupid Mind Palace how Moriarty tricked you!? How did he beat at your own game!? How did he took advantage of your stupid feelings to kill you!? Moriarty was smarter than you, Sherlock! Maybe at the end, he was the best of the two!"

A strong hand stopped umbrella before it hit him again, Sherlock had grabbed the umbrella firmly and stared at his brother. Or so it seemed to John and Molly, though his mind was in another place, in a past that he didn't want to remember.

_It had started when his presence was required by the King of England to serve in combat. His mother had cried, Ms. Hudson had also cried, his father stood firm, though his eyes expressed great sadness and Mycroft remained impassive. He knew that it was very important and it didn't matter the prestige of his family, he wouldn't get rid of this. Sherlock Holmes had been called to the battlefront and Sherlock Holmes would fight in the war._

_At the basecamp, he tried to ignore all those he considered unworthy of some attention (everyone) and he earned the title of 'sullen'. However, if there was something he was good at were the strategies and predict the enemy's movements. The battles he led were always victorious and soon his fame of professional strategist, reached to the ears of the unwanted James Moriarty. _

_James was a mole on both sides, transmitting secrets from France to England and secrets from England to France. No one ever asked him where he got the information, they simply trusted his humble Irish face and his spy skills._

_Moriarty wasn't happy with the results Holmes obtained nor the information about his small businesses that Sherlock had somehow figured, so he decided to end this game. He took advantage of the only fault Sherlock Holmes shared with the other men on the planet. Her._

_Irene Adler, The Woman, a goddess who walked among men. She was one of the dancers that were hired to entertain the soldiers and one of the most beautiful women of the time. With her porcelain skin, her bright eyes, her silky black hair, her ruby red lips, and best of all: her brilliant mind. Behind that angel face was a cunning manipulative harpy who played with men and did what she pleased with them._

_Holmes was not different from them. She seduced him with her puzzles and mysteries and he fell for it like an idiot, coming to believe that she could be trusted and that could become a powerful ally. Moriarty decided that this was the perfect time to strike._

_The Woman managed to convince Holmes that Moriarty was planning to steal some important English documents and sell them in France to the highest bidder, his plan of attack was at midnight. Sherlock hesitated at first, but finally was convinced. That night, at quarter to eleven, he stood in the entrance of the tent that had the files to mount guard. Minutes passed and there was no sign of Moriarty. He, beginning to lose the little patience he had, entered the tent. _

_Five generals armed with pistols and two army captains pointed at him with their guns. From the shadows suddenly appeared Miss Adler, accusing him of trying to steal the files and betrayal. He tried to explain but nobody listened. They chose to believe Adler rather than Holmes 'the freak'._

_Grabbing The Woman and pulling out a dagger from his boot, he aimed at her jugular and created the perfect distraction to escape. He ran and ran through the woods in which they had settled, with most of the British army at his heels. When he finally managed to lose them, he came to a cliff, where James Moriarty was waiting for him._

"_It has been fun, Sherlock; but I fear that this game has to end. You thought you have power over me, but a woman hired by me has led you to your doom."_

_Sherlock opened his mouth to answer, but let out a cry of pain instead. Colonel Sebastian Moran had suddenly appeared at his side and had sank one knife on his side._

_Moran grabbed his arm and dragged him to the edge of the cliff, then looked at his boss, waiting for a signal. Moriarty looked bored._

_"Yes, drop him now. It has been a pleasure to play with you, Mr. Holmes."_

_When the officers arrived at the cliff, they found Moran and Moriarty with severe cuts on their bodies and the last with a dagger stuck on his side. Their only argument was that they were attacked by Sherlock, but managed to fight back and throw it off the cliff. Sherlock's body was found two days later and was returned to his family by request of his older brother._

Sherlock's eyes flashed dangerously, his teeth clenched and his grip on the umbrella increased so much that it splitted in two. Mycroft and Molly recoiled a bit, but John came to his aid.

When he was helping to get him up, Sherlock pushed John away from him with force.  
>"Stay away from me. I don't need anyone's help. I'm a grown up man." He said coldly, then focused on Molly, when he saw she took a brave step forward.<p>

"Sherlock ..." She said softly. Sherlock huffed in annoyance.

"Please, Miss Hooper, refrain yourself from treating me like a child, is pretty degrading. I understand that your need and failed attempts to have children and a stable relationship make you act in a 'maternal' way with the rest of the world, but this is pathetic even for you. "

She looked at him with shock. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Yes Miss Hooper, I know what your insecurities are, basically because you haven't stopped chattering about them from the first moment we met, things that honestly I didn't care about. Like: your breasts are too small, your eyes too big, your lips are too thin, which is true by the way... useless things and proper of pathetic and desperate woman who only wants someone to give her some love, which probably will never happen because of your profession, don't let your hopes raise up. Mycroft, why do you always bring me the dullest and plainest people? "

When he finished, Molly's eyes were full of tears. John wanted to punch Sherlock for being an ungrateful jerk, and embrace the poor Molly. However, Molly did something that surprised them all. Despite the great desire she had to cry, she remained firm and serious.

"Mr. Holmes, I see that his brother has regained his memory and his deductive 'skills'." She spat the word 'skills' in disgust. "I understand that my services here will no longer be required. So I can pack and go home."

Sherlock froze in shock and stiffened, John could have sworn seeing the fear cross his eyes, but it lasted only a second, then it disappeared. Mycroft saw it, and for a second, he wondered if in those weeks his brother wouldn't have become too dependent of Molly.

Sherlock quickly regained his composure and returned to his arrogant pose.

"As you wish." He said coldly.  
>Molly nodded and without another word she left the office to go to her room, leaving a confused Sherlock, John and Mycroft behind.<p>

* * *

><p>Sherlock had been pacing in front of Molly's bedroom's door for nearly fifteen minutes, the worst part was that he didn't know what he was doing there or why he cared so much that woman was leaving.<p>

_You shouldn't care. Then, what the hell are you doing here? She's just a simple ordinary woman._ He reprimanded himself. Still, he continued mounting guard at the door, unable to go away.

When the door opened, Sherlock hid in a corner, still not knowing why he was hiding. He followed Molly to the entrance, where Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson and John were waiting, along with a carriage. Molly gave Mycroft a sad smile, and gave Ms. Hudson a hug , while John shook Mycroft's hand and kissed Mrs. Hudson's cheek. He watched from the top of the stairs, without having courage or inclination to go down to say goodbye. Before entering in the carriage with John, Molly stopped.

"Goodbye, Sherlock." She said without looking at him, and climbed into the carriage, not willing to come back to that house.

Sherlock watched as the carriage disappeared into the distance. Whe he couldn't see it from afar, he ran off to his room and locked himself in. Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson thought it was another of his tantrums, but they couldn't be more wrong.

When Sherlock made sure that the bedroom door was locked, he pounced on the closet, rummaging through the clothes. He took a pair of leather boots and a hooded cloak and dressed quickly. He opened the window and jumped to the tree that was in front of his bedroom, grabbed a branch and descended. Once on the ground he ran in the direction the carriage had followed.

* * *

><p>He didn't know what the hell had possessed him to follow that woman, He just knew that he wanted her to arrive safely home. It didn't took him too long to get to Molly's house, perhaps twenty minutes, and with his new speed he had managed to arrive just in time to see her get out of the carriage. He hid in the bushes and watched the scene in front of him.<p>

At the door of the house was a gray-haired man who was oddly familiar, but he didn't know exactly where had he seen that man. The man greeted Molly with a smile and gave her a big hug. Sherlock felt a twinge of jealousy in the pit of his stomach when he saw Molly in the arms of that guy, this time he didn't bother to deny it. From the distance he was, hecould hear snippets of their conversation.

"I'm really glad to see you!" She said as she hugged him. The stranger smiled and tightened his embrace.  
>"Same here, Molly. Where have you been all this time?"<p>

Then he recognized him. How hadn't he noticed before? It was him, the young policeman he used to help with his cases ten years ago. He was older, but the years had improved him, now he seemed wiser and cleverer. But ... What was his name? Sherlock couldn't remember it very well.

_Lestrade! Gabriel Lestrade! _He thought.

Molly looked somewhat uncomfortable by the question and didn't know how to answer without having to mention Mycroft, John or Sherlock. So she decided that the best option would be to change the subject and ask him for his cases.

"It's been a hard month." Lestrade said. "Especially if we didn't have the help of our best pathologist." This last was said in a whisper and with a conspiratorial wink. Sherlock was starting to feel disgusted with this man. Molly blushed and giggled, and opened the door.

"Would you like to come and have tea while we talk, Greg?" She said.  
><em>Greg! Well, there's always something.<em> He scolded himslef.

Once the door was closed, he couldn't see or hear more of the conversation. Willing to find another way to spy, he spun around the house. As he found no other entrance, he decided to return to the mansion, it was getting dark.

He walked alone and silently through the dark and empty streets of London, he honestly didn't think people were dumb enough to go out at this hour, it was obvious that he was wrong.

Out of nowhere came a scruffy-looking and somewaht drunk man, who pushed him into an alley. Sherlock knew that the poor bastard would not last a chance against his superior strength and his extensive knowledge of martial arts, but still he left him struggle a bit with him. He didn't realized his errror until the attacker removed his hood by accident.

The face of his attacker went from anger, to surprise, and from surprise, to fear. His face drained from colour and his body began to shake with fear. Slowly he began to back away from him and when he was within a reasonable distance, he ran away screaming like a madman.

"MONSTER! MONSTER!" was the only word he screamed.

Sherlock couldn't afford to be discovered, so he tried to catch the man and silence him, running after him, he extended a hand to hold his neck. When the man tried to scream again, Sherlock got alarmed and did something he never would have thought he would do. Unconsciously, he tightened his grip so badly that not being connoisseur of the limits of his strength, he broke his neck and killed the poor man. When the man exhaled his last breath Sherlock abruptly released him and looked at his hands in horror, in his time as a detective and in the army he had ended many lives, but never like this, using only his bare hands.

He heard people approaching, and turned to hide in the shadows of the alley. Only there, in a broken mirror, he could notice what he really was. He was dirty, very dirty but that didn't matter to him, all of his body was covered in ugly scars and seams, like if he was a rag doll, most of his hair had fallen, there were only a few colourless strands. He was repulsive, an aberration, a freak.

A feeling of rage, anger and resentment came over him with a great force. Why was he like that? How could he to return to his cases with this very unpleasant appearance? Enraged and dominated by primitive instincts he roared at his own reflection in the mirror. Not satisfied with that, he roared again this time directed towards the night air. People could better not cross paths with Sherlock Holmes that night, otherwise they would suffer.


	5. Chapter 5

**I came again, with another chapter, shorter tan the others but well... This one: Sherlock finally confronting Mycroft and demanding an explanation, Mycroft planning and Molly and Je- ahem- Greg Lestrade. Lots of thanks to catmilk for being my beta ^^ **

**Reviews, favorites and follows show me your love! Enjoy!**

To say that London's streets were destroyed was an understatement.

Each and every one of the streets that Sherlock had passed to go back to the Holmes' mansion had all sorts of cracks caused by iron fists. Strong steel railings were folded in half and marked by long thin fingers, crystals were broken, carts and carriages shattered violently.

For a long time, people thought that a wild animal was responsible for the destruction, and they weren't too far from reality, at that time Sherlock Holmes was more beast than man. Feelings of jealousy, anger, resentment, confusion, fear, and pain all feelings that he had so much endeavored to hide had clouded his mind leaving him alone with his primal instincts, which at that time consisted in one thing and one thing only. To destroy. Luckily, no other poor idiot crossed paths with him that night.

When he arrived at the gates of the Holmes mansion, Sherlock didn't bother to try to pick the lock; he simply gripped the door's bar and pulled so hard that he tearing the metal doors in one pull. Not having to deal more with the object that obstacled his way, he threw the doors of the gate as far as he could (it ended up breaking one of the windows of a neighboring mansion). Taking long and angry strides, he crossed the gardens and kicked open the front door.

He knew where he was going. Since he left Molly's house that had been his only direction, however, after the incident with the drunken man the reasons why he went into that room had changed drastically.

In his crusade to Mycroft's office, he ran into Mrs. Hudson who seemed to have taken one of her herbal soothers for the pain on her hip.

"Sherlock, dear, why were you out at this hour? Come with me and I'll make you a cup of tea to get you warm."

Sherlock didn't answer; instead he just grunted and pushed her aside, not hard enough to stamp her against the wall, but to show that it would be wiser to not speak to him until the next morning. Mrs. Hudson gave a little gasp of indignation and then shrugged, thinking it would probably be one of his famous mood swings.

The office's door was unlocked, but Sherlock still felt the need to make a dramatic entrance to prove his brother that the mood he was in was a very not good one.  
>"MYCROFT!" He exclaimed.<p>

His brother didn't even have time to turn around, Sherlock had put him against the wall and twisted his arm behind his back, taking precaution to not tear it from his body or break it, although he had a huge desire to do so. Mycroft groaned in pain.

"Shh ... Sherlock ... ouch ... What the hell are you doing?" he hissed.  
>Sherlock growled and tightened his grip.<p>

"You know perfectly well what I'm doing, my dear brother. Tell me." He began, "If I died ten years ago, how can I still be alive? And yet, I have more seams than a vulgar rag doll?" He spat in disgust.

Mycroft didn't reply, so Sherlock released him to recover his breath. After a few minutes Mycroft managed to stand and sit in a nearby chair. Sherlock didn't want to give him a chance to explain himself; he wanted to make his brother suffer for tuning him into a monster.

"It must be really important if you have decided to play God, we all know that you would never revive because you love me, but because you want something from me. You're selfish enough to turn your own brother into a repulsive creature in order to save this damn nation. And well, my beloved older brother, what do you want me to do this time? How do you want me to stop Moriarty? Do I have to kill him? No… I don't think so that would be to easy… a cliché. So, tell me Mycroft, what do I have to do so you can let me rest in peace?"

He said with venom in his voice, it wasn't like all those times he thrown a dramatic scene because his brother wanted him to take charge of an important case for His Great Majesty, this time his brother had gone too far.

"Sherlock, you must know that if I could have revived you earlier I would have done so. This isn't a mission to save our country. There are innocent lives at stake, I thought you'd want to confront Moriarty, to get revenge on him and his allies for humiliating you with such an ordinary trick wouldn't you like it? You could beat him at his own game, break him and prove that no one on the entire world is smarter than you are. Knowing you, I thought it would be a good chance to demonstrate your superiority. Also, if you hadn't been resurrected, England and many other European territories would have been destroyed inevitably. We would have lost too many lives... "

"And since when do you care about the lost lives in battle?" He asked pointedly. For a moment, Mycroft looked hurt but that emotion soon vanished from his face and returned the Iceman facade.

"If the conflict were to spread to America, our parents would be on the list of victims, whereas here the ones occupying that list would be myself, Ms. Hudson, Dr. Watson and his family, Inspector Lestrade, … _Miss Hooper_. " He emphasized 'Miss Hooper 'to see if it surged effect. Indeed, Sherlock's shoulders tensed and a dark expression crossed his face.

"And what can I do? By experience I can tell you that I can't appear in public places."  
>Mycroft crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in his chair.<p>

"I guess we could start with that ball Moriarty is celebrating to finally convince the entire upper class to go to war, I'm sure we will find something in that ball."  
>Sherlock raised an eyebrow.<p>

"Age is starting to remove your faculties, dear brother, if I remember correctly I've just said that I cannot appear in public without causing a scandal, and I doubt he has invited you."

"As always, little brother, I'm one step ahead of you. Several members of the police force, such as Inspector Lestrade have been invited to the ball."  
>Sherlock scoffed at him.<p>

"Oh, well, so if Inspector Lestrade goes I won't have to worry, I'm much calmer now." He said sarcastically.

"I have not finished, Sherlock." Mycroft replied, scolding him. "Although Lestrade isn't very fond of Moriarty and suspects of him, in the ball we will have a spy of greater confidence."

"Really? And whom have you decided to put this time?" He asked.  
>"Miss Hooper." Mycroft said simply.<p>

Sherlock's eyes opened wide and on his face, the surprise was written all over it. Mycroft smirked knowingly.

"Yes Sherlock, her, and given that the Inspector has just broken his marriage and his not so secret attraction to her, it is obvious that the only person whom he would take as his 'companion' to the ball is Miss Hooper. She will provide us with the information. "

Sherlock clenched his fists and teeth tightly, and he didn't bother to hide how much he hated that plan physically.

"Sherlock, don't be dramatic, she'll be alright. And none of your tantrums will change my plan. She is all we have."

Sherlock huffed in annoyance and left the room, giving a loud bang with the door that caused some cracks to form in the wall. Mycroft shook his head negatively; this would definitely be harder than he had originally planned.

* * *

><p><em>Molly's house<em>

Molly put water in the kettle to boil. Lestrade was sitting on her small living room looking quite uncomfortable. Truth be told, despite his fame at the office of being a heart breaker he was always very nervous when he wanted to ask out a pretty girl, and Molly was quite pretty. At least, for him she was…Not to mention young, she could be his daughter.

Molly came up with two cups of tea in her hands, and put one in front of him before sitting in her favorite armchair with her own cup in her lap. Molly soon began to feel uncomfortable with the silence and the nervous look on Lestrade's face.

"Is something wrong? Would you like some pasties?" she said rather quickly.  
>Lestrade shook his head quickly.<p>

"No!" he said a little too loud. Lestrade cleared his throat and gave Molly an apologetic look, "What I mean is... well, you see, Professor Moriarty is having a ball this weekend and I was wondering if you ... well, you know ... will you go with me?"

Molly blinked, that was not what she had expected there were many more beautiful women in town, why would he ask her? It was really a surprise that the very attractive inspector even noticed her. Molly was flattered to be courted; but her thoughts didn't stop to drifting to Sherlock, sweet, innocent and sensitive Sherlock who had now become a cruel heartless machine.

_Forget about him, he's interested in you, Molly. A ball will help you forget these last few months, plus it could be fun!_

"I'd love to." Molly with a sweet smile. Lestrade smiled and let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.  
>Molly at that moment vowed herself to forget all about the Holmes family<em>.<em>

* * *

><p><em>Holmes Manor, Sherlock's room.<em>

Sherlock was lying in the nest of blankets that he had made up in his room, he had not bothered to do his bed, why bother? It was just a waste of time, plus this way was easier to think the bed was too hard anyways.

He kept thinking on Mycroft's words, but not the one's about his resurrection or his revenge of Moriarty (frankly, he completely agreed in that, after much thought he had come to the conclusion that he would have done the same otherwise) but those about Molly and Geoff Lestrade. It made him boil with anger, and it made him angry that that made him so angry. He shouldn't feel these things… _emotions_; feelings were a chemical defect that belonged to the losing side, a huge human error, and Sherlock was anything but human.

But still, why did he have to take Molly as his partner? Weren't there more women in fucking London? And why did Molly have to accept!? What did Gavin have that he didn't?

"_A perfect skin, a nice head of hair, a smile that inspires confidence and not fear."_ Reminded him a voice that curiously resembled John Watson's.

Sherlock groaned and pressed a pillow against his face to repress those thoughts, but they didn't stop flowing in his head.

"_If you weren't a monster you would take the place of Joaquim".  
>"You're disgusting, revolting..."<em>

"_Freak!"_

As much as thinking about it bothered him, it was true. Even if he was willing to establish a relationship with Molly, she would refuse him. Because he wasn't only rude and cruel, he was also an abomination and as he had seen in those last months she deserved much more than a beast.

He sighed, defeated. This _was_ going to be harder than Mycroft originally planned.


	6. Chapter 6

**I came back with more chapters! Million of thanks to catmilk for being my beta and revising and correcting my mistakes ^^**

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><p>The next morning, Molly looked in her closet in hopes find the ideal dress for the ball, she couldn't just wear any old dress this ball was sophisticated and elegant. It was a little nerve-racking finding the perfect thing to wear. Molly had never gone to anything this fancy, nevertheless the fact that the ball was organized by someone who Mycroft Holmes considered a highly dangerous criminal. It wasn't going to let it spoil her night. Molly deserved the right to enjoy a wonderful party and have a good time interacting with other people, and besides, when did a girl like her get invited by an attractive police inspector like Greg Lestrade? No one was going to spoil her party, not Moriarty, or Mycroft, not even Sherlock.<p>

Looking in her closet her hopes fell, all the dresses she had were too simple and ordinary; there was nothing elegant or sophisticated in them not to mention they were very old fashioned, she would surely be the laughingstock of the ball.

Knowing that she had no choice but to go shopping, Molly let out a long sigh and went for her coat and her bag. Before leaving, she made sure to leave a bowl of hot milk by the window for Toby, her tabby cat, who liked to escape to go on adventures for several days before returning to home dirty and hungry.

While she walked through the streets of London to the commercial area, she noticed the poor condition in which the streets were, her neighborhood wasn't one of the most luxurious but this level of destruction was worse than Whitechapel's. Molly could see the amounts of people gathered in the streets, gossiping. Usually, Molly wasn't the one to pay much attention to petty gossip but there was something that two women were saying which made her turn around and start listening.

"They say the responsible of the damage is an animal." One of the women started.

An animal? Animals don't have the brain to cause this destruction; I heard that it was a man." The other replied. Molly couldn't contain her curiosity any longer.

"A man?" She asked. Both women turned.

"Yes, a very large and primitive man with a hideous face, people said they saw scars on his face." Replied one of the women.

Molly froze, her blood turned cold, scars? It couldn't be it was impossible. She knew that Sherlock was very temperamental, but he would never fall to the 'so unpleasant level of beasts without reason'. Plus he knew better than to go out into the streets…

_Plus that idiot is probably too pompous and refined to destroy a street. Surely he would worry about breaking a fingernail._ She thought with an eye roll.

She missed the old Sherlock, the one whose face lit up every time he saw her and the one that was so innocent and so sweet that he almost looked like a child rather than an adult. But she had to get used to the idea that that Sherlock wasn't coming back and the actual Sherlock wanted nothing to do with her.

Molly nodded her goodbye to both women, who went back to gossiping as soon as Molly started walking; Molly continued her walk, thinking. So deep in thought that she didn't realized when she bumped into someone.

"Ouch!" exclaimed a voice.

Molly snapped her head up quickly, ready to apologize.

"Sorry! Are you? — wait a second — John?"

John Watson's factions widened into a grin when he recognized his friend.

"Molly! Fancy meeting you here!" he said in a friendly tone."

He looked down at the woman beside him and placed an arm around a woman's shoulders before looking back up at Molly.

"I want you to meet my wife, Mary."

Molly's eyes went to a short woman with gray eyes and blond hair that was smiling at her kindly, she noticed the protruding baby bump. Molly opened her mouth to speak, but Mary spoke first.

"How do you know John, Molly?" She asked curiously.

"Do you remember that research I did for Mycroft Holmes? Molly was also hired by Mr. Holmes." John said quickly.

Mary pretended to be in thought for a second.

"Oh yeah, that project ... how did you say it was called, honey?" She asked sweetly

"The project to cure the Hunterton-Reklinhausen syndrom!" He said triumphant.

Molly had never heard of this in her life, and she had done many autopsies in her life which the cause of death was a rare disease, but she had never heard about one disease with such a ridiculous name. Trying to be polite and to not get John caught she didn't laugh, even if she did have the desire to do so.

"Ah ... of course, silly me ..." Mary said, it was obvious that she didn't believe anything of what John was saying , but only John was completely oblivious to this.

"So what are you doing here, Miss Hooper?" Mary asked, changing the subject.

"I came to buy a new dress for Professor Moriarty's ball. Unfortunately all the dresses I own are too old fashioned. I figured it was time for something new."

"Then we won't keep you any longer, Miss Hooper. We should be going now; we have a patient to attend."

They were a few meters away from her when Molly called to them again. She didn't know why, but she couldn't contain that uncertainty any longer.

"John!" She shouted. He turned and gave her a confused look.

"All this destruction, do you think it was ...?" She began, not sure how to continue.

From a distance he could see John swallowed hard and looked unsure. Mary looked at them both with an air of suspicion as if she knew something wasn't right and that something was important.

"I don't know, Molly. But I hope not." And then he turned again and he and his wife continued their walk.

Molly watched as they walked away and got lost in the crowd, seeing the two so happy together made her feel jealous, why couldn't she have what they had? It was always the same when it came to men, they felt insecure when they discovered her profession and her tastes, and she didn't blame them, anyone would run when he learned that their girlfriend cut open bodies for a living.

She didn't ask much, she just wanted what everyone but she had: falling in love, get married, and get pregnant and live happily ever after was that so hard?

But it was obvious that life loved to destroy her hopes and happiness, but maybe she could accomplish that with Inspector Lestrade, it was obvious that he fancied her and she felt a slight attraction to him. He also didn't seem to mind her career, maybe he was her last chance to find love, Molly could only hope.

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><p>From a carriage, a woman dressed elegantly watched the young Hooper from the shadows. At first glance, Miss Hooper didn't seem like a special woman; she had no idea why her boss had taken a sudden interest in her. She guessed that behind that simple and innocent shell was hidden a woman of great worth and intelligence. Leaving the romance novel she was reading aside, she told the driver to wait for her. She got out of the carriage, and taking the advantage of no one looking at her – which was rare, because a woman like her always was the center of attention- she pulled up her skirt and took out a small gun and a syringe with a sedative in case things got rough, but considering what she had been told, the young woman was submissive nature and wouldn't hesitate to obey if she was intimidated.<p>

She followed Molly to the store, where she pretended to be a customer who wanted to buy a dress. From the corner of her eye, she watched Miss Hooper and she swore to herself that before she came out of the store, she would have convinced her one way or another to go with her.

She took advantage of the moment where Molly seemed distracted with one of the dresses to approach her without seeming suspicious.

"It's a lovely dress, don't you think Miss Hooper?" She said with a rather false sweetness.

Molly jumped in fright and quickly turned to face the beautiful woman, clutching the dress to her chest like if it was a blanket.

"W-who are you? How do you know my name?" She asked already intimidated by the beauty and seriousness that woman imposed.

"My name doesn't matter, Molly. You might not know anything about me, but I know a lot about you. I know things that could ruin your entire life." She said pleased with the effect that she seemed to cause on the shy woman.

Molly swallowed and began to back away.

"I think I should go home now ... It's getting late anyways ..." She said trying to move towards the door. A hand on her elbow stopped her from doing so. Molly's eyes looked fearfully into the cold eyes of the stranger.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Miss Hooper. I have received express orders to take you to my boss and I am a woman of my word." She said tightening her hold on her elbow to the point of bruising it.

"Please let me go!" Molly pleaded, trying to catch the attention of the store manage but failing miserably.

The strange woman frowned, and then a calm facade covered her face and released her without complaining.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Hooper, sorry if I frightened you." She said with a too wide and too mischievous smile. Molly felt even more insecure and tried to get out of there as fast as she could.

"I-it's noth- ah!" Molly felt a slight pinch in the neck, and thanks to the devilish glint in that woman's eyes, she knew she had a lot to do with it, if not everything.

"I ... I ... I have to go" She said groggily.

She walked unsteadily toward the door of the store, dropping the dress, which landed in the hands of that woman.

"Have a nice day, Miss Hooper." She said with an amused malice in her voice.

Molly felt dizzy and ill, the world around her was blurry and her head was pounding, soon the darkness came over her more and more and she felt like both her will and her body was beginning to fail.

She only managed to get through the door of the shop when she felt that her limbs failed and collapsed to the ground. She could hear the voices whispering around, the people asking if she was okay, the carriages passing on the street, someone asking for a doctor, when she felt someone grab her elbow and help her up.

"My dear friend, if you don't want to make a scene you'll have to come with me." Someone whispered in a sensual voice.

Molly nodded weakly and let the stranger take her to a carriage parked in the street. Only when the carriage began to move with the two women inside, Molly allowed herself to succumb to the darkness.

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><p>When Molly Hooper woke, her body ached all over; she could barely keep her eyes opened her body felt weak. The pain and fatigue that roamed her muscles was unbearable, she made a huge effort to stay awake and avoid falling unconscious again. However, what she saw when she was completely aware of everything made her heart stop. She wasn't in the street or her house, that woman had kidnapped her to do god knows what with her. Molly began to panic, the one thing that she knew she shouldn't do in a situation like this so she forced herself to stay calm.<p>

_Remember Dad's breathing exercises. Conceal, don't feel. Breath and count to ten._ She repeated to herself in her head.

"There's no need to be afraid, Miss Hooper. Nobody is going to hurt you." An annoyingly familiar voice said from the shadows.

To her relief and her personal dislike, Mycroft Holmes and the woman of the store emerged from the shadows, smirking.

"You work for him?" She angrily asked. Mycroft shot her a smug smirk that made her want to punch him in the face.

"If you want to express it like that, yes, she does. I introduce you to Miss Anthea, my personal assistant."

"Nice to see you again, Miss Hooper." Anthea said with a crooked smile.

Molly couldn't feel more anger at that time.

"What the hell do you want from me?" She snapped while Mycroft's smirk remained on his face.

"Come on; don't be like that, I just want to talk to you."

"And couldn't you send me a letter?" Molly said narrowing her eyes at him. Mycroft had the nerve to look thoughtful.

"No, this is much more discreet. We don't want any curious…_people_ poking their noses in this, do we?" He finally said.

"What do you want with me?" Molly asked frowning.

"Your contract with me is not finished yet, Miss Hooper. I need you to do me a small favor." He said in a calm voice.

"What if I refused?"

Mycroft's expression darkened and a sinister smile crossed his face; Molly felt how her blood go cold in her veins and now her hair stood on the nape of her neck. She looked away, unable to look at those cold, cruel eyes that looked as if they knew what the time when she would die was. Unable to bear the tension anymore, she broke the silence.

"Okay! What do you need?" Molly was glad that her voice didn't tremble not even once, but it was obvious she was scared by the Earl's look.

"I need someone to be my eyes and ears during Moriarty's ball. I want you to pay close attention to everything that is said about the war they are planning against Europe and then inform me of it. Will you be able to do that?" He said with a cruel smile. Molly looked down, her hands wringing nervously in her lap, she could always refuse, but her contract with her wasn't over and who knew what he could do to her, he could ruin her whole life. Molly let out a sigh and looked up at Mycroft Holmes before she nodded shyly.

"You can take her home, Anthea." He said in a satisfied tone.

Before heading out to the door, Mycroft handed her a package, she took it and looked inside it was the same dress she had been watching at the store. When she looked at Mycroft for an explanation he just smiled.

"Good choice, Miss Hooper. You have excellent taste." And with that Molly Hooper was escorted out of the room.

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><p><strong>Next one: The ball, raging and childish Sherlock and gore... Please review!<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys! Another chapter is up. Sooo I think the blood starts here... **

**Anyway I think I should start killing characters, I don't know... but don't worry I wouldn't dare to kill Molly or Sherlock or any of their friends, so that left me the bad guys I think.**

**A million of thank yous to my beta catmilk and sorry for ruining her lunch (next time I will put triggers I promise ;p)**

**Triggers: Maybe graphic descriptions of violence, blood, bodies, killing...**

**Leave a review please!**

_Tic-Toc, Tic-Toc, Tic-Toc..._

Sherlock was bored, really bored, and that was dangerous. In the days long ago before the 'accident' he had grown so bored that he set fire to his room only to test the heat capacity and the speed at which the cedar wood burned. His parents didn't take it very well and that was the first time he was sent to a boarding school, from which he was expelled two months later because his insolence and cruel critics. All his classmates hated him for saying what he observed and deduced. The young Sherlock pretended to pay no attention to their abuse. However, inside, the pain and rage consumed him more and more.

'_If I could have their necks now in my hands...' _He thought darkly, tightening his hold on the small metallic decorative sphere he had, crushing it in his hands.

Only a miracle could get him out from that state of boredom. Unfortunately for him this miracle turned out to be Mycroft, he pretened to pay no mind as his brother entered the room.

"Mycroft, What are you doing here?" He said with all the disdain he could.

"I thought it would be convinient to inform you that our scapegoat knows about her mission. It was difficult to convince her, but with a little persuasion..." he said in a bored tone.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and approached Mycroft with a dangerously slow pace. Although, Mycroft acted as if he didn't fear his brother, Sherlock could see him step back clearly intimidated. This caused Sherlock to quirk his lip up a bit before frowning in confusion.

"And why are you telling me this?" He said in a tone that matched his body language.

"Because I know you dear brother. You won't be able to stay away from that ball and you won't be able to restrain yourslef against Moriarty." Mycroft stated seriously.

Sherlock bared his teeth when his enemy was mentioned.

"And who's saying I'll go?" He said defensively.

"Promise me that you won't go." Mycroft said narrowing his eyes.

Sherlock mocked him. "And why wold I promise such a thing?"

Mycroft sooth him a stern look and Sherlock huffed in annoyance, rolling his eyes.

"Alright, I promise."

Mycroft narrowed his eyes again, something in his eyes stating that he clearly didn't believe him, and after a few tense seconds he gave up and turned to leave the room, but before leaving, he shot a last glance towards Sherlock. Something akin worry was written on his eyes, but faded quickly before he closed the door.

Sherlock waited a few seconds before he chuckled darkly and took his hands from his pockets, showing his crossed fingers, it would take more than a silly promise to keep Sherlock Holmes away.

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><p>Molly looked at her reflection on her bedroom's mirror, she almost didn't recognise herself. The dress was beautiful, a pale lilac tone that hugged nicely her petite and slim figure, she had done her hair wavy and had it in a bun, leaving a few curls free.<p>

Had also applied some pink lip stain, making them pinkier than normal. For the first time in her life, she felt pretty.

Someone knocked on the door, and Molly went downstairs to open. It was Greg Lestrade, her companion. He gave her one good look and his jaw dropped with awe, causing the young brunette to blush.

"Whoah, Molly. You are uttlerly beautiful." He said looking her up and down.

"You look very handsome yourself."she said with a small smile.

He wore an elegant suit, that hugged his tone figure in all the right places, she acepted the arm that he offered and both of them enter the carriage that would led them to what they thought it would be a quiet evening.

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><p>Sherlock watched people coming into Moriarty's huge mansion. They were all so pathetic and submissive, like a flock of sheep. They weren't even aware that they were entering the wolf's lair, but that was understandable since they were all for them, he was also a wolf, and a dangerous one as well. A predator, born to kill and govern the other creatures, that was what he was. The only thing that was left was to find a way to enter the mansion, but how?<p>

Seeing the guards put in front of the door, a macabre idea came to him and a creepy smile crossed his face.

Once he didn't see any more guests entering, he hid among the bushes and threw a small rock, catching one of the guards' attention. The poor man went over to where Sherlock was, who, when the guard was close enough, jumped from the bushes and broke his neck with both hands. The guard fell dead to the ground with a loud thud, which attracted the other guard's attention.

When he saw Sherlock, the guard turned to run and alarm the others, but Sherlock was faster and threw a heavy rock to his head, hitting him. The guard fell to the ground with a ugly looking bleeding wound on his skull. He could have left him there, bleeding and giving Moriarty the chance to end his life. But he wanted more, needed more. He had bloodlust.

He grabbed the rock that he had thrown him and hit him repeatedly with it on his head. With every hit, the sound of his skull cracking could be heard along Sherlock's guttural noises and the man's screams, pleading with him. The blood that flowed from the wounds splashed his face, but he didn't care.

After several hits, he finally stopped and admired his work. The guard's face was completely contorted by pain and fear, and his skull showed severe wounds and fractures in which most of them the blood had dried. He felt nothing, neither satisfaction nor a pang of pity for the man. He didn't care, not one bit. Sherlock was now like an animal.

Stepping over the corpse, he went towards the entrance, but he knew entering through the front door would be too risky. He didn't want to ruin the guests appetite by having them witness Moriarty's death, just because he was a killer didn't mean he didn't have manner, his mother taught him better than that.

He climbed the columns of the entrance to the top floor, which looked empty, and quietly walked to the main stairs. Nobody seemed to notice his presence, they were too busy praising the psychopathic Moriarty to do so, they made him sick. He climbed the wall to hide in a small cavity from which a gargoyle stood and he got ready to continue his plan.

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><p>Molly had never liked parties, and judging what she was seeing, Greg also despised them. They were both together, away from the crowd and watching people dance and have fun. She hadn't forgotten what was her purpose there, the problem was approaching the politics without giving the impression of being a whore or a spy. On the other hand, neither Moriarty nor his wife, Lady Irene seemed to be present in the grand ballroom, but Molly knew she would never get some information out from them.<p>

"Inspector Lestrade! What honor you join us tonight!" said a voice behind them, causing Molly to jump in fright. Moriarty and his beautiful wife, Lady Irene, were behind them, looking at them with a fake smile and malice in their eyes, that Lestrade either chose to ignore or didn't notice.

"I am eternally grateful that you have invited us tonight, Lord Moriarty." Greg said, bowing his head.

"Yes, yes, of course." Moriarty said ignoring him and focusing all his attention on Molly with a sinister smile crossing his face.

"What a lovely companion you have, Inspector. You wouldn't mind if I steal her from you for a while, it will be only a dance, I swear it." He said with fake politeness. And not giving Lestrade the chance to answer, he dragged her towards the dancefloor, joining the people dancing.

Molly didn't trust that man, not one bit. But the best would be to go with him and get everything she could.

"You are not pretty enough to be his lover." Moriarty stated, pulling her out from her thoughts.

"Sorry?" Molly asked confused.

"Don't get me wrong dear, you're pretty, but not the kind of woman that the Earl of Warwick would take as his wife. It must be your brain what made him come to you." He replied with a fake smile.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Molly said defensively. Moriarty dug his fingers painfully on her waist, causing her to wince in pain, she was sure he would leave a bruise in her delicate pale skin, she gasped softly in pain, having Moriarty's full attention.

"It's a shame, because you know exactly what I'm talking about." He said in a danerously low tone,

"I know that Mycroft Holmes has recruited you and Doctor John Watson to work on certain secret project, the question is: What project?"

Molly swallowed hard, they had been caught It wasn't worth denying it.

"That's none of your business, Lord Moriarty." She snapped bitterly.

Jim shot her a manic smile, matching with the mad gleam in his eyes.

"Don't play games with me, Ms. Hooper, you don't want me as an enemy, believe me. But I will give one piece of advise: back off or I'll be obliged to skin you and all your loved ones my dear girl." Molly shuddered and paled, Moriarty smirked at her.

"Let's change partners!" He said suddenly in a lively tone.

The last thing Molly saw before being throwed roughly into Lestrade's arms, was the wolvish grin of Moriarty and Lady Irene. A grin that promised pain and death if she didn't oblige to his command. So it was true: James Moriarty was mad, and it was his 'war hero' title what made people follow him blindly.

Lestrade was starting to look at her worriedly.

"Molly, are you okay? You're very pale." He commented while he tightened his hold to avoid her to fall.

Molly shook her head and decided to forget about the threat and focus on Lestrade, and find another way to get information from Moriarty, who now danced with his wife, she had to think of a plan, better to be relaxed to do so.

Suddenly, there was a loud noise and she was violently pushed to the other side of the room, she didn't have time to react but felt a sharp pain running down her leg.

The ceiling chandelier had fallen causing the ultimate death of a few gursts, she and Greg had been saved from that dreadful fate because he had pushed her just in time. She looked down at her leg, one of the crystals of the chandelier had shot out and deeply embedded in her thigh creating a horrible bleeding wound.

The lilac dress she wore rapidly began staining red, her leg was in pain and numb, Molly hoped the shard didn't cause any permanate damage.

People screamed in fright, but not because the mix of visceras, brain, blood and bodies that covered the ballroom floor, but because there in the middle of the room stood Sherlock shooting a deranged smile to everyone present on that ballroom, then his eyes settled on her. He frowned in confusion, he watched her, survayed to see if she was fine, that was until his eyes settled on the wound on her leg. Sherlock's eyes widened and he looked at her with worry, he began walking towards her, but froze on his tracks when he heard Moriarty's voice.

"Guards! Kill him!" Shouted the man.

Sherlock turned around slowly, facing him and his eyes widened in recognition, and so did Moriarty's. Sherlock expression morphed into one of pure rage and all reason dissapeared from his eyes. He stormed towards Moriarty and his armed guards with a roar of fury.

The first guard didn't have time to react, because Sherlock lunged at him and grabbed his head with his hands, crushing it, making it explode and staining the guests with blood and brain mass. A piercing scream escaped the guests as they started to run away from the chamber, that made the other guards cower and retreat, charging their rifles. But Sherlock didn't want to show mercy and lunged at them, disposed to use them as a way to canalize his fury.

He stuck his hand on the chest of the man who was now closer to him and grabbed his heart. It was so soft and so viscous, and at the same time so breakable. He squeezed with all his might and the man's face morphed into a mask of agony, the guard looked pleadingly at Sherlock.

"Pl... Please... S... Stop! I can't bear it anymore!" He choked desesperately.

Sherlock smirked cruelly at him.

"As you wish." He said darkly. His voice was more deep, to the point of being animalistic and primal. He tore his heart out of his chest, making a rush of blood from the hollow that the organ has occupied a few seconds before to be shot to his chest. Another guard fell dead to the ground with a bleeding hole in his chest.

A shot was heard and a sharp pain ran through his shoulder. When he palpated it he saw that his shirt was wet with blood. He turned around sharply to see a young guard, no more thant twenty one years old, who was clutching his rifle, how could that bastard shoot him?

He pulled one of the broken crystals from the fallen chandelier, without paying attention to the deep cuts that its sharpness was making on his hand. He approached slowly the scared guard, who was now shaking like a leaf. Before he could run away, Sherlock pounced at him and threw him to to the ground, keeping him still with a hand on his neck.

He lifted the crystal that he had in his hand and held it near his face. The guard was sweating and crying, begging for mercy, but Sherlock was having none of that. He buried the crystal in the right eye socket, cutting off the optic nerve and tearing out his eye. The guard howled in pain and horror, his screams would put the willies up to the craziest man, and that was the effect they had on Moriarty.

Sherlock repeated the process with the other eye, but this time he left the bloody glass a little more in the socket, wanting to torture him. Once he finished, he let the guard go, who was now covering his empty sockets with his bloodied hands while he shouted inconsistences. Sherlock focused all his attention on Molly.

He noticed how pale she had become, he suspected blood loss, her face full of fear...for him. She clutched onto Gavin Lestrade's hand as if her life depended of it, and the made Sherlock exprience a range of emotions, hurt, pain, anger. Molly noticed these emotiones in Sherlock's eyes and for a second she saw the innocent creature she once knew to be him.

He approached them slowly again and stretched his hand to help her.

"N-No... Please, Sherlock... D-Don't come any closer..." She stammered with her eyes full of tears.

A gleam of reason crossed his eyes, but he didn't stop on his march towards her, but Lestrade stepped between them, trying to protect Molly.

"You! I won't repeat it twice! Get back!" He said trying to look brave. But Sherlock didn't pay him any attention. He grabbed the neck of his shirt and threw him against the closest table as if he didn't weigh more than a feather. Molly screamed in fright and tried to step back, but her wounded leg wouldn't let her move.

Sherlock knelt down and lifted her dress to see the wound. It was deep and bloody, he could see her muscle a bit and he knew her cut was bad, she needed medical attention. He reached down to touch the wound, causing her to yelp, this made him furrow his brows, he despised seeing her in pain, seeing her afraid, he didn't want to risk leaving her there much longer, he feared her gash could get infected.

He gently scooped her up bridal style, Moriarty was forgotten for now, the only thing that mattered to him was Molly. He had to take care of her, like she had done with him.

He broke one of the huge windows and jumped through it with the bleeding pathologist on his strong arms.

Lestrade let out a groan and slolwy sat up from where the beast had flung him to, he surveyed the room and noticed it was empty. There was no sign of anyone, neither Moriarty nor Lady Irene, not even Molly remained, and what of that surprisingly familiar monster? He also had disappeared, and that arose a question that had burried itself deep in it's mind.

"How the hell did Molly know its name?" He asked to no one in particular.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi! Sorry it took me so long but family and studies always come first. I think there'll be more regular updates from now on. I'm already working on the next chapter but before I update I want to have more reviews, maybe five or six, I don't know. I want to reach thirty or thirty one to update. But take your time, because I'm lazy as fuck and probably won't send the chapter to my beta until one or two weeks have passed (if the wi-fi lets me, I'm having many problems with it right now)**

**Anyway, thanks to my excellent beta catmilk, and enjoy the chapter!**

**Warnings: a bit of sexiness and a character's death.**

Molly woke up with a severe pain in the leg, the pain itself was unbearable it felt as if someone was nailing a piece of burning iron in her thigh, what if she wasn't be able to walk again? Still, it was too dark to see the state of the wound, and she had yet to know where she was. Obviously, not her home, but in some room. She currently laid in feather mattress with sheets of high quality silk, wherever she was they wanted her to be comfortable, and she would have been comfortable if it were not for the body lying next to her, the bed's owner, probably, and a man judging by the huge hard bulge that was pressed against her leg.

Molly was a woman of medicine and had spent years examining countless bodies and studying human anatomy to know what that bulge currently pressing against her was. The figure next to her let out a groan and wrapped his arms around her waist. Fear running through her body and slowly tried to escape from his grasp, but that was useless, it was like trying to move a marble statue, he just wouldn't budge. The only thing she achieved was a low growl from the man and the hold he had on her tightening.

Panicked, Molly raised her hands to feel the body of her captor, trying to become familiar with his form. Her hands touched a muscular lean torso with rough skin, which ended in long limbs. The bulge was pressed insistently against her good hands caught something that caught her attention. A long '' Y'' shaped scar ran down his torso from top to bottom. With the tip of her index finger, she caressed that mark, supossing that it had to be a really ugly-looking scar.

She heard the man sigh softly as he pressed against her even more, leaving the ghost of a kiss on her neck with his full and soft lips. Wait, full lips? Who did she knew that had an ''Y'' shaped scar on his chest and perfect lips?

Molly froze when she discovered the answer: Sherlock

Molly's body began to quiver and tremble with fear, her memories flooded back, she had been injured by the chandelier all those dead people; Molly couldn't help but fear him. Who knew why he had taken her, perhaps he was going to kill her? Only God knew.

It was only then that her shaking woke him up, Molly stiffened when she heard the annoyed growl that escaped his lips, most likely from being woken up. He stirred lightly and pushed away from her, making Molly let out an involuntary breath.

A light suddenly shone in the dark room and Molly blinked several times, trying to get used to the new ligh in the room. When her eyes got accustomed to the light they immediately settled on Sherlock, who was giving her quite an annoyed look.

"I was trying to sleep, but I suppose it won't be possible if you're trembling like a scared pup." He said in a rude tone.

Molly didn't know what to say, however, her eyes began to water.

"Please, don't hurt me." She said between sobs.

Sherlock didn't move. In fact, he scowled and looked at her with something akin to confusion.

"What are you talking about?" He asked. Still, she continued babbling about how she was a good person and she was only following Mycroft's orders, utter nonsense, which made him scowl even more. For the first time in his life (without counting the weeks after his resurrection) he didn't understand anything he was being told, and frankly, that irritated him to the utmost.

"Stupidity doesn't suit you, Molly. What have I done to make you behave-" he gave a wave of his hand, "Like this?" He demanded impatiently.

Molly stopped short, what did he mean? Didn't he remember anything?

"A-Are you saying t-that you don't remember anything?" She asked in a meek tone.

He must have thought she was insulting his intellect for Sherlock let out an annoyed scoff, "Don't be absurd." He began, "I never forget anything." He said defensively, but he didn't sound really sure of himself.

"But do _you_ remember?" he asked curiously.

Molly frowned lightly, "You killed all those people." She said in a tone.

Sherlock made a face that resembled confusion, but seeing as Molly was going to keep talking he decided to distract her, changing the subject.

"How is your leg?" He asked, maybe too quickly.

"Fine, thanks." She said looking anywhere but him. He was still pressed against her and when he shifted, that his impressive erection pressed itself against her side. Molly tensed against him, it seemed he didn't realize how aroused he was, and she didn't know what to do.

But Molly noticed how his eyes began cloud, just like they did on the party.A pang of fear ran through her body and Molly let out an involuntary shiver, maybe she had been right and he was going to kill her too. A sheen layer of sweat decorated her pale skin, however, the cold hand of fear clutched tightly at her heart. These were, perhaps, going to be her last moments alive.

Surprisingly, Sherlock, who still held that dark gaze, caressed her collarbone with the tip of his long finger, his finger trailed down her body and dangerously approaching the small amount of cleavage that her dress showed. When he reached her breast, he licked his lips hungrily in a way that would have made the 'normal' Sherlock cringe in disgust. A pink tone coloured his cheeks, neck and ears. Despite how scared and scandalized she was at that moment, she couldn't help but find it endearing.

Bit by bit, Sherlock started lowering his head, aiming his lips to hers, causing Molly to stiffen. When his lips were at a mere breath from hers, the door was opened roughly and an enraged John Watson entered.

"Sherlock! What the bloody hell!" He bellowed. Sherlock looked at him with a look that basically told John to piss off and leave the room, but John wasn't having any of it. He a soldier for bloody sakes! A soldier that had just been woken and forced to leave the comfort of his bed to repair the damage that_ 'someone'_ had acidentally made, and he wasn't going to take any shit from anyone, no matter how scary they looked.

Sherlock, sensing that this time his look wouldn't win the match, closed his eyes and with an annoyed huff, got out of his bed and went out of the room, _his_ room, leaving the Doctor with Molly.

* * *

><p>Sherlock felt confused. What had happened there? What was Molly so scared of? What had happened the night before? He could remember slight glimpses but everything else was blank he couldn't remember, and if there was something that he loathed more than anything was not remembering things. His mind only caught small bits and fragments: A bronken chandelier, blood, Gavin... But he needed the entire picutre to deduce his actions, he couldn't use such meaningless data.<p>

However his heart clung to a single emotion: rage.

_Rage? Why? _He wondered.

He had never felt so choleric. Not even when Mycroft stole his toys or when his dear dog Red Beard died. It was a rage that made his blood boil and his heart beat furiously, and speaking of matters related to the heart... What the hell had happened there? It had been just like passing puberty all over again. He had always proud himself of being able to control his more primal instincts, but it was being near that woman and his libido skyrocketed. If John hadn't arrived with his irritantly - yet life saving- interruption, he feared that he would have ended tearing her dress off and taking her wildly on the bed.

A pang of fear rushed through his chest, while another pang of something went directly towards his cock, hardening it again and making him adjust his baggy pants. He couldn't be like that, he had to control himself. That was for their own good. He had always been - and still is, married to his work, a relationship would ruin his career. Furthermore, he doubted that with his new looks he had any chance at any relationship, not only with her. Just looking at himself in the mirror made him want to throw up.

Sherlock shook his head, why was he thinking those fruitless things? He wasn't interested in her, right? The bond he felt towards her was merely because she had been the first person he had seen when he was revived, right? But no matter how hard he tried to delete her from his Mind Palace - still in construction- she still sneaked in, to remind him to sleep, eat, or to give a scientifical and morbid fact about any of his experiments or the things he observed.

He made it to the end of the hall and walked up to the window, looking out into the darkened streets of London.

Why did he felt like that? He barely knew her, he shouldn't trust strangers, no matter the things they had done for him. The last person he could say he had 'given his heart' was...

_IRENE. _A voice that curiously sounded like his but with a darker and sinister air screamed in his head. Both of his hands went to his sewed skull, clutching it tightly. The voice keep chanting rabidly in his head.

_IRENE. IRENE. IRENE. IRENE. IRENE. _With each 'Irene' the voice got stronger on his mind. The headache was unbearable, Sherlock fell to his knees. He heard a ringing in his head, it was the blood pulsating furiously on his cranium. The pressure in his head increased quickly, just like the panic he was feeling. He could feel how his still in construction Mind Palace vanished, giving way to a void. The last thing Sherlock remembered was grabbing tightly the frames of the window until they cracked then everything turned dark and the rage and bloodlust took over.

* * *

><p>Irene Moriarty, neé Adler enjoyed the luxuries that her new life offered. It was amazing what a few tricks and lies could manage to achieve. Not mentioning what her body had gotten her. She had gone from being a plain London's whore to the wife of a Lord, in only twelve years. She doubed greatly that her mother would have gone further than her. That old hag was where she deserved, buried underground, just like any other who dared to mistreat her in the past. Irene let out a pleasured sigh while she submerged in her porcelain bath.<p>

It was really wonderful to have someone like Sebastian and her wonderful husband to cover her back. It didn't mattered that Jim didn't love her, what really mattered was money, power and social status. Those were the only things that mattered for her, at least that's was what she always tried to tell herself, but something always made her feel empty-perhaps all the things she claimed to need weren't enough, maybe she needed something else. Love. True, pure and selfless love that no one had managed to give her, well with one exception.

Love was something that was missing and she had it once, ages ago. Her memories went to the blue eyed, curly haired soldier all those years ago. She never thought that she would end up falling in love with him, despite she had been hired to trick him by his nemesis.

He hadn't been like the other soldiers in the camp, he didn't see her as a plain whore or just a body which was made to enjoy and corrupt. He encouraged her to develop her intelligence, to use her cunnings and her brain to achive everything she put her mind into. But she had already established her goals, and she wasn't going to let anyone come in her way, so she continued with her original plan, ignoring the foreign feelings that that man awaken in her. Work came first, just like he had said to her once while they were making love.

She didn't cry when they told her about the death of her 'lover', she didn't even make a sad face. After all, he was now a traitor to England. However, she couldn't help but feel the emptiness in her heart when she discovered that the only person who could have ever loved her, was dead because of her.

A strong wind opened wide the windows and blew out the candles. The room was now pitch black. Only the moon's light managed to light up the chamber a little, the wind shook the tree branchs making them crash against the walls of the mansion, giving an even more sinister air to the room.

Irene pouted. It seemed that her moment of relax had ended, she let out a sigh and without anything to cover her perfect body, she got out of the bath to close the windows. The cold marble floor was almost painful on her feet, and the gusts of icy wind caressed her nakedness as if they were small knives. Irene closed the window and decided to return to the bath for a bit more, since her husband was still altered because the party's 'incident' and wasn't in the mood to gave her some entertainment.

Entering again in the bath, she let out a shiver of pleasure when her skin came into contact with the warm water after being exposed to the cold air. She poured more bathing oil on the water and let out a satisfacted sigh, throwing her head back, her dark and wet hair clinging freely to her tanned skin.

The sound of ceramics breaking alerted her of the unwelcome presence of someone in that room. It was so dark that she couldn't identify anyone, she didn't even knew how it had managed to snuck inside her bathroom. Irene, for the first time in years, felt fear seizing her, she extended one of her arms to grab the bell that would alert her servants of her need of their presence, but the second her fingers touched the small golden bell, she felt something chaining her to one of the legs of the bath, making the bell now something unattainable for her fingers; and repeating the process with the other hand. Now Irene Moriarty was immobilized. Not being disposed to show her fear, she mustered value and talked towards her assailant.

"Who are you and what do you want?" She said bravely. She didn't get any answer, though, but perfectly obvious that there was another person on the room with her. She could hear his heavy breathing.

A candle suddenly was lightened, iluminating the face of her stalker. Irene screamed and shook her hands wildly, trying in vain to free herself from the chains that bounded her. It wasn't the monstrous appearence of her stalker what scared her, but the familiar face that now formed an enraged expression.

Before she could scream again for help, the monster spoke.

"You betrayed me. I loved you." He said with a deep and dark voice.

At the sound of that long missed voice, Irene shed a tear and lowered her head ashamed. This was a dream, it had to be! Her greatest fear was to see him again to be reminded of what she had done to him, and that she wouldn't be able to escape from his vendetta, but no, this wasn't a dream. It was really him. It wasn't worthy to resist her fate. He had cornered her and would get his revenge. She didn't know how he was alive again but supposed that she wouldn't live enough to discover it. With a nod of surrender, she closed her eyes and let the tears fall freely.

"I'm sorry..." She whispered

Sherlock let out an approving noise and in his eyes appeared something akin sadness and regret, but as soon as those emotions appeared, they disappeared. They would have made a great couple, but sadly, fate was a cruel creature, and so was he, it was still better to die at his hands than Moriarty's.

Without thinking twice he poured the lightened candle on the waters. Making them burn along Irene, thanks to the high inflammability of her bathing oils that she always used to bath.

Irene couldn't help but let out a blood chilling scream when the flames came into contact with her skin, every fiber of her body was burning and it was an unbearable pain. The fire reached her organs making them boil along with her blood, and it felt like they were going to explode with pain. Irene kept screaming in agony, she supposed that was what hell felt like.

Her skin was reddening and then blackening because the burning and soon it started to get seared. Irene let out a final howl and fell unconscious, letting her body burn and die.

Sherlock watched the burning show with impassive eyes and made an effort for his human part -isolated on a corner on his mind- to not feel pity. Irene had been corrupted by greed and lust for power and that was what they had taken her.

He couldn't let that affect him, no matter how much it hurted.

**A/N: I feel a bit bad for killing Irene, but I wanted this fic to become darker so... there'll be deaths.**


	9. Chapter 9

**So, here I am again! This chapter is a bit shorter, but well, at least I updated :D For the next update I'll require 5 reviews more (sorry if I'm being a nuisance with this :()**

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"Are you sure it's nothing serious?"

Molly asked trying in vain to contain the shiver of pain that was caused as John examined the wound. It wasn't as bad as it looked the night before, however it was still an ugly looking wound.

"You're lucky that the glass didn't do much damage to your nerves. It's going to be a long healing process." He said, "You might have a bit of trouble walking for a while, but cheer up!" he said as he noticed the way she looked at him.

"It could have been worse." He said in a cheery voice, clearly trying to make his friend smile, but the doubts and confusion in Molly's head prevented her from noticing the futile tries of John to cheer her up.

"Why did Sherlock show up at the event in the first place?" She thought aloud, putting her index finger on her chin, she saw the way John's face darkened, turning serious.

"I don't know, but from the stories Mycroft has told me, that wasn't like him at all. Something escapes us, maybe we did something wrong during that experiment."

The two stared at each other silently, "We'll have to talk to Mycroft, and maybe he could tell us a little background on Sherlock's….Life before this. But for now, you have to rest and not let this Sherlock situation stress you out." John gently pushed her against Sherlock's pillow and placed a glass against her lips, forcing her to drink an infusion he concocted to soothe her nerves.

While the bitter liquid ran down her throat and fillerd her empty stomach, Molly vowed to herself to get to the bottom of what possessed Sherlock to lose control like that. They couldn't allow more people dying or getting hurt, like at Moriarty's party. She highly doubted that Sherlock, no matter how cold and stoic he seemed to be, could have that on his conscience, but for now John was right, she couldn't do anything with her leg like this, she needed to heal.

* * *

><p>"Alright Inspector, now take off your shirt and let's what we're dealing with." Said the doctor in a professional tone.<p>

Lestrade obeyed and unbuttoned his shirt, his torso which had a series of cruises that ran through his body and almost his entire skin. Apparently, when that _thing_ launched him against the table, it caused more damage than he had initially thought, the nurse aiding the doctor let out and a delicate gasp and a breathy _'Oh my stars' _at the sight of his bruised skin.

"You must have really upset whoever did this to you." Said the nurse, while extending a finger to lightly touch the bruised skin.

Lestrade tried bravely to not show how much her light touches hurt him, however, when the nurse sightly increased the pressure, he hissed in pain.

"From a professional point of view, Inspector, I think you should take a break, but I know men like you and if you decide on continuing with your work I suggest you do light work, at least until the bruises diappear. But please keep in mind that it could take a while taken by the look of your bruises."

The doctor motioned his nurse over to the shelf; she walked towards the small wooden shelf hanging from the wall and pulled out a small glass jar full of red pills.

"Alright, Mr. Lestrade, I'll leave you at the aide of my nurse." Said the doctor, "I have many patients to attend to." The man stood up and exited the room, leaving him and the nurse alone.

"Dr. Haydon recommends that if the bruises bother you, you should take those pills, but please, I advice that you take one or two a day, one after waking up and the other before going to bed. It would be better if you took them with an empty stomach... well... maybe..." She said unsure.

Lestrade could tell she was a bit nervous so he gave her his famous _'silver fox smile'_ to soothe her nerves. It was amazing that in times like these a woman dared to express her thoughts and scientifical theories out loud. She reminded him of Molly a bit, always theorizing and investigating on her own, a woman with a brain was always attractive in his book, it made him wonder if that was the reason he really like Molly Hooper.

After paying the nurse and the doctor for their services, he got out from the consult and went in the direction of Sctoland Yard. He couldn't get distracted now with scientifical theories and nurses when his companion, Molly was in serious danger and in need of his help, and he swore to God that he would help her. There was also that beast and his tremendous resemblance to someone from his past. How could that be? Maybe it had to do with an old case? He would have to look to old files of closed cases to find out.

When he entered the station he made a bee line towards his office, completely ignoring the remarks of his sarcastic, but at the same time efficient, secretary, Sally Donovan.

"You're back? I thought you would take a small holidays. I would have done that if I had been attacked by a freak." She said bored without tearing her eyes off from the novel she was reading.

She didn't move when he didn't respond, he knew that Sally Donovan gave no fucks when it came to Lestrade or what happened to him, and yet he admired her for that, and it was probably one of the many reasons he still kept her around.

Lestrade closed the door of his office and put the jar with the pills on the table. For the first time in almost twenty four hours he fell on his chair, closed his eyes and put his hand on his forehead, that now formed a frown. He was tired, he hadn't sleep at all and he had barely eaten after Molly disappeared.

In his head the images about what had happened the last night repeated over and over again: The chandelier, the borken crystals, the corpses and that really familiar monster. But how could he be familiar? When had he seen those blue eyes full of intelligence? those lips that so often formed a smirk? and that choleric expressio—

Lestrade's eyes widened, he pounced towards one of the archives and rummaged between the files, throwing them wildly around the room and filling it with old yellowish papers. At the bottom there was one of the oldest cases, maybe one of the first ones he solved when he entered the police force. He thought he would never see it again. The case involved a robbing and attempted murder, he remembered it well because that was the first case he managed to solve thanks to the help of...

"Sherlock Holmes." He whispered.

But that couldn't be! Sherlock Holmes was dead! Once you died, you were gone; there was no possible way to come back, for God's sakes! But nature's law didn't prevented Lestrade from seeing him killing the guards in cold blood and carrying Molly as if she was his chosen bride.

Someone knocked hard on the door of his office and made him jump in fright and drop the papers to the ground, causing them to get mixed with another cases. He let out a sigh, he'd have a lot of cleaning to do.

Lestrade rubbed the bridge of his nose as he made his way to the door as he opened it his eyes settled on a young messenger no more than fifteen years old, and in his hands he carried a telegram, he wondered how the boy could have escaped Sally's sight. Lestrade peered his head through the door to find her snoring, the book she had found so fascinating earlier, covering her face. Once again, he had to remember why he kept her around instead of firing her.

"Inspector, this is for you. It's a message from Professor Moriarty, sir. He says that there's been a serious fire in his mansion." The boy seemed pretty agitated and a bit nervous, maybe caused by the presence of a police officer or being adressed the chore to deliver an important message.

Lestrade paid the boy a shilling and locked himself again on his office, walking over all the paper. When he opened the letter, he couldn't help but gasp, this was worse than he had initially thought.

He quickly grabbed his coat and exited his office, waking Sally up with his upruptance, as he headed out the door he heard a vague, _'Bloody hell, I'm not cleaning that!'_ but he had no time to stop, he had to get to the bottom of this and quick.

* * *

><p>James Moriarty stared unaffected at what was supposed to be the corpse of his 'wife'. Emaciated, blackened and smelly it didn't look like this body was ever been a beautiful woman.<p>

Truth be told, it made him feel a bit sad. Irene had been one of his favorite playthings, always so playful and defiant, with her feline sensuality she could be compared to a panther. But, well, what was done was done, and there was nothing he could do about it, there was no reason to mourn over her loss, she wasn't even his lover.

He took a look at the bathtub, it was what has obviously what had been most damaged, not to mention the furniture nearby, at some point the fire had extended through the room and had charred it completely, along part from the next room. The silk curtains were torn, the candles were melted, the glass windows were broken and the marble floor tiles were as black as carbon. The repairs were going to be really expensive, however, there still was something that made him smile.

He perfectly knew who had done that and why. To be honest, it had been a total shock seeing him all sewed and crazy at the ball, but once he recovered, the thought of facing his archenemy again was more pleasurable than an orgasm with Sebastian.

But it seemed that his old friend wasn't willing to play fair. In fact, it seemed that he wasn't going to stop until he saw them all dead and buried. This time there wasn't going to be any ingenious mind games or thrilling chases, just violence and brute force. Truth be told, Jim as a bit disappointed but no less happier than he was before.

This time, his friend had made a serious error, maybe even greater than the last one. He had showed in public what could be his greatest weakness. His Achiles' heel, if he was taking it in a more poetic way. He just had to find her and destroy her, the rest would be a piece of cake.

Taking one last look at the corpse of his wife, Moriarty spoke without a shred of remorse in his voice:

"I'm sorry, darling. It seems that Sherlock Holmes has a new favorite toy."

**Next chapter: Things get worse for Sherlock...**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hi again! My computer decided that it would be really funny to delete all my documents so I had to rewrite everything again!**

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_The __Holmes' Manor._

Sherlock stirred awake, a headache pounding loudly as he realized his mouth was full of grass. What happened? Sherlock let out a groan, it appeared that after his loss of consciouness he had left the mansion and somehow ended falling asleep on one of the forest around the manor

But still, there was still no explanation to what had happened while he had happened before falling asleep. What had he done? He wondered. He had the slightest idea about his actions; and he didn't like not knowing, all he had was the smell of burning of his clothes and the vague memory of a bathroom.

The sound of someone clearing their throat caught his attention. Sherlock's head shot up, only to let out a groan as his head pounded hard, he looked up to see his brother Mycroft who currently stood in front of him, a dark expression on his face and a gun pointing at Sherlock's head. Sherlock tried to stand up, but Mycroft's cold eyes told him otherwise.

"Don't you dare to move, brother mine." He warned, "You and I have much to discuss." He said seriously, moving to the side to put himself behind Sherlock, "Get up." He said seriously.

Sherlock let out a huff of air,"Mycro-"

"Do as you're told." Said Mycroft, boredly.

Sherlock got up he put a hand on his head and swayed lightly as Mycroft began to lead him to the house. So many thoughts ran through his mind, and a part of him wished they would just stop, but then he realized.

"Molly. I want to see, Molly." Sherlock, though, Mycroft picked up on what he said.

"Oh, don't worry about her, Sherlock. Both Miss Hooper as Dr. Watson will be present at our meeting. After all this concerns us all." Mycroft said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Sherlcok reluctantly walked with a slow rate towards the manor. He didn't understand what the hell had happened to make Mycroft upset enough to have to lead him with a gun towards his family's mansion. He also didn't understand why he had ended laying on the forest. Lately he didn't understand anything and again it made him angry not knowing.

A voice in his head that strangely sounded like John said that maybe in this life he was dumber, that would explain why he didn't understand what was obvious for Mycroft. Sherlock felt like strangling him.

He didn't have anything against the good doctor, in fact his presence was relaxing and calming to his excentric and overactive personality. However, he didn't take very well being called stupid. Even if it only ocurred in his head.

Finally, they reached the huge manor, and as soon as they entered, Mrs. Hudson came out to greet them and offer them a hot cup of tea with a tray of pastries. A single look from Mycroft told her that Sherlock was in great trouble and they didn't have time for 'tea parties'.

The halls of the manor that he usually crossed running at great speeds, were now endless for Sherlock. After several minutes of walking at a really boring slow path, through halls that were full of dull and plain pictures that were surprisingly expensive, they stopped in front of a door that unfortunately for Sherlock, he knew vert well. His own room were currently resided a wounded Molly Hooper.

The room was completely dark, excepting a pair of candles that barely brought some light to the room. The curtains were drawn, blocking the entry of the sun rays. John was there, changing Molly's bloodied bands for cleaner ones, probably so the wound wouldn't get infected, he wondered if the wound was really serious.

She was laying on his bed, sleeping peacefully, filling his quilt and pillow with her sweet tantalizing aroma, which he would make sure to catch when he buried his head on the sheets.

Mycroft drew back the curtains roughly, making a sun ray to enter through the window and hit Molly on her face, jolting her awake.

"Now we don't have time to waste, Miss Hooper. Not when my brother plans to turn murdering into one of his hobbies." He said ingnoring her complains.

Sherlock was deep in thought, murdering? God, what had he done this time? Frankly, he hoped it wasn't many people who had suffered for his actions.

"Murder?" Molly asked with a small voice, looking at John, who had a somber expression on his face. At the same time, Molly looked through the corner of her eye at Sherlock, who still looked deep in his thoughts.

Mycroft let out a sigh of resignation.

"It'll hit the newspapers soon." Sighed Mycroft, "I have people watching my brother, and it seems Sherlock entered decided to pay Moriarty's manor a visit and thought it would be really funny to burn Mrs. Irene Moriarty alive while she bathed. Luckily, the police haven't the slightest idea who could have done this, but I suspect they might figure it out soon."

Sherlock for a second seemed to be paler than before, and something similar to sadness crossed his eyes. Molly didn't know what his backstory with Irene Moriarty had been, but she knew that that woman should have been really important for him if he dared to show some sentiment. However, his pride soon make it disappear.

"You said that I had to stop Moriarty at any cost." He said bored tone.

Mycroft's face turned red with rage at the nerve of his brother.

"But I didn't tell you to kill them and cause a public scandal! Do you realize what will happen to us if we get caught!?" He hissed angrily.

John looked astonished the confrontation between the two brothers, he didn't know the satus of their relationship, but looking at how they behaved with each other he supposed that was part of their daily routine. Molly, not wanting that the confrontation evolved into something more dangerous tried to change the subject. She had never had a brother or a sister, and she found it saddening to see the brothers argue.

"What do you think that causes that behavior on Sherlock?" She inquired shyly.

Mycroft straightened and his arrogant aura returned to him.

"There's only one plausible option. The experiment could have damaged a part of Sherlock's brain and had created some kind of split personality, that along the fact that the only emotion he felt when he died and when he awoke was rage doesn't help us at all."

John frowned confused with all that brain chatter. The experiment was already too confusing itself, and now they were talking about some unpleasant side effects?

"What are you talking about? That the electrical discharges have caused Sherlock to have brain damage, probably irreversible?"

"Well, Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the tru-"

Sherlock stomped his foot angrily.

"There's nothing wrong with my head!" He barked, causing John and Molly to flinch. It was a sensitive issue and she was aware, she recalled Mycroft telling her that people would often claim Sherlock as a lunatic for his massive intellect, it had to be difficult for him to admit that maybe he just wasn't as smart as he used to be.

"Well how do you explain this!?" Mycroft's voice passed from his usual neutral and bored tone towards a louder volume than usual. "Who assures us that you won't have another of your psychotic break and will do it again!?"

Sherlock stood in silence with a choleric expression on his face and his hands forming tight fists. He refused to look at anyone in the eye, centering his sight on Molly's bandaged leg, whose wound he had accidentaly inflicted and whose dress was rolled up enough to show a deliciously looking thigh. He could almost see her panties, and unconsciously he imagined what lovely surprise would be under them.

"Sherlock." Mycroft spoke firmly. "Until we are sure that you won't harm anyone more, we should have to lock you somewhere. For your own good, and ours." He said, his voice serious.

Sherlock gave his brother a glare, he didn't like the idea of being locked up like some mangy dog who had rabies. John, taking advantage of the trust and friendship, if he could call that friendship, that Sherlock had deposited on him, decided to intervene.

"Sherlock, we really don't have a choice. If there was any other way, I promise you that we would take it without thinking twice. But there's no other way." He said, hoping that his arguments would convince him.

Sherlock ignored him and looked at Molly, hoping that she was on his side. She however, looked more interested on her bandages to answer him. Sherlock wondered if she agreed with the rest of them, if she too also saw him as a monster.

Mycroft cleared his throat and Sherlock's attention snapped towards him. With a small movement of his head he signaled him to exit the room. Sherlock at first refused, preferring to stay with Molly in the room, his room. John grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him out, leading him towards the basement, which would be his new room until further notice.

* * *

><p><em>Moriarty's Manor<em>

No matter how hard he tried, Greg Lestrade couldn't stop admiring the great beauty that the georgian house gave off. Despite the huge burned layer that covered part the facade, the mansion still retained its impeccability and neatness.

After three minutes of looking like a proper dummy at a manor that he could never compare to his small, dingy flat, he heard footsteps and was soon received by a housekeeper with white hair and eyes hard and full of disdain. Lestrade suddenly felt a bit self-conscious by the woman's looks, she looked at him as if he were scum.

On the inside, the manor was even more breathtaking. However, there was nothing left of the cheerful colours and lights that it presumed on the ball. It was like that cheerful and colourful house had never existed.

The haughty housekeeper led him towards the bathroom where the fire had started, or just like the message said: the murder.

A couple of officers from his team were already there, looking for clues that could signal what had exactly happened there the night before. At the same two journalists were also taking notes about what they could observe on the room, probably with a juicy story forming on their liar heads.

Looking at the burneed corpse, Lestrade felt pity for the beautiful Irene Moriarty. But he felt even more pity for her widower, Professor James Moriarty. Popularly known as 'war' hero, but Lestrade didn't think that the action of making a young brilliant man to fall from a cliff was considered heroic, no matter if that man was considered a traitor.

"She was beatiful, don't you agree?" A monotonous voice said at his back.

James Moriarty stood there, accompained by a tall and muscled blond man, looking at the corpse of what had been his wife. Lestrade felt surprised about how little affected he was by her death. Excepting his red and puffy eyes, it looked like he didn't care. Moriarty continued talking.

"I know it wasn't an accident. Her hands were tied to the bath, so she couldn't escape. Someone wanted us to see her dead." He said with the same monotonous and bored tone from before. Lestrade swallowed, he hadn't noticed the handcuffs.

"Well... it's a bit soon to start making accusations, don't you think so?" He said.

Moriarty's gaze turned as cold as ice. Lestrade had always been a brave man that have naver been intimidated by anything ot anyone, in fact, that was why he decided to join the police force, however even him felt a chill run through his back when he saw those eyes akin to those of a dead fish. For some reason, he felt that Moriarty knew more about what was happening, but he had to force that thought to vanish. After all, he had just lost his wife. It was normal for him to behave in a weird manner.

"And what about that monster? You can't say that it isn't a strange coincidence that someone with a curious similarity with someone of my past, who is dead by the way, sneaks into a private party and kills many of the guards and guests."

Lestrade seemed to be doubtful, and once more, the thought about Moriarty not telling him all he knew returned to his head.

"I don't know what you want me to answer, Professor." He said.

Moriarty let out a bored huff and the blond man smirked cruelly.

"Of course. But I insist in that there's someone that want to see us dead, Inspector. So I suggest you put us under close superveillance. After all, he has already killed one, it won't take too long until he comes for the other two."

**For the next chapter I promise there will be a bit more of Sherlolly! And really grumpy Sherlock :D**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hi! It has been too long, but college happened, so I won't be able to update for a long time. Anyway I have here a new chapter, enjoy it :D**

**Thanks to my aesome beta catmilk!**

**Please, leave reviews, they encourage me to keep writing!**

The basement was cold, wet, and it barely fulfilled the necesary requirements to host human life. Frankly, Sherlock highly doubted that it fulfilled those requirements or that it had ever fulfilled them. And he made it clear to John, who was chaining him while Mycroft looked from the door. He made a mental list about all the unhygienic aspects that that devilish place had and the possible ways to correct them, and he didn't think it twice about reciting them aloud to piss them. That served them right, for treating him like an animal.

The next part of his 'monologue' were the chains. Were they really necessary? Sherlock complained, protested and rambled about the chains until John threatened with putting a dirty sock in his mouth if he didn't shut the fuck up.

Sherlock shot him a killer glare, but surprisingly, he obeyed. It seemed that Molly Hooper wasn't the only one with some influence on the younger Holmes. Mycroft thought it could be really good for his brother if he kept Dr. Watson near enough to control him.

"Don't worry, brother mine. You'll be served three meals a day and you'll have time enough to satisfy your more 'primal' needs." Mycroft said with a hint of amusement on his voice while he titled his head towards a potty and a rusty basin with water.

That was the last straw.

With a beastly roar, Sherlock launched himself towards his brother in an impulse to break his neck, completely forgetting about the chain that held him and remembering about them just when they preventing him to take any other step, returning him to the site where he stood before. Furiously, he tried to pull them off, the first time without succeeding, but after a few seconds the chains started to break.

When he managed to free his right hand, John decided to intervene. Holding Sherlock by his shoulders, he forced him to look a his eyes. Sherlock's eyes shone with a murderous and enraged glare, his free hand grabbed tightly John's shoulder. It would probably leave bruises, but if he tightened his hold, he could easily dislocate it, or worse break the bone. John shivered to the strong hold of his friend, but he stood firm.

"Sherlock! Stop now! You're hurting me, damn it!" John shouted. But Sherlock didn't listen, his eyes were starting to cloud.

"SHERLOCK!" John bellowed when he felt his bones start to crack.

Sherlock's eyes returned to normal and a small amount of regress crossed his expression. Slowly, he let go John of his hold and backed until his back touched the wall, then sat.

"Phew, you are really strong to be that thin." John said massaging his shoulder. Sherlock remained quiet, refusing to look at his eyes, still ashamed. John gave him a friendly smile.

"Hey, I'm not going to resent you, I've had worse. You don't have to be ashamed."

Sherlock looked a bit relieved, however he didn't dare to look at his face. John took pity on him.

"Do you want us to leave, mate?" He asked softly. Sherlock nodded slightly.

"Yes." He said curtly, but then he seemed to think about it better. "Please."

"As you wish." John told him, turning his head towards Mycroft. They both left, leaving Sherlock alone with his thoughts.

* * *

><p>A knock on the door made Mycroft look up from the pile of papers he was looking at. Annoyed at the interruption of his work he left them over the table and got confortable on his chair.<p>

"It's open." He said miffed.

Mrs Hudson's head peered shyly through the door.

"Mycroft, dear, there is a young man who claims to be Detective Inspector said his name was Gavin…Greg! Greg Lestrade and says that he needs to see you. It seems important"

Mycroft's eyes widened slightly, he perfectly knew that Inspector Lestrade was no idiot, and he knew very well the reason of his visit. He had to play well his role if he wanted to get out pristine of the interrogation.

"Make him enter." He ordered.

The woman turned away from the door and let the police Inspector in. Mycroft hadn't seen him over almost eleven years, and felt the hurtful bite of jealously when he saw how good he had aged.

"Long time no see, Inspector Lestrade. The last time I saw you, you were nothing more than a mere novice." Mycroft said smiling politely at him. Lestrade smiled back, but soon turned serious.

"I fear I'm not here to talk about the past. At least not my past, well, a small part of it."

"And what did you want to talk about, Inspector?" Mycroft said playing along.

"You see, Lord Holmes. This is not easy for me, I know it's a sensible subject to your family, but I have to insist, it's about your brother."

Mycroft, being the good actor he was made a somber face and pured himself a whisky glass. "And what do you have to say about my brother, inspector?" He said carefully adding a bit of bitterness to his voice.

"I know it sounds mad but... the other day, during Professor Moriarty's ball, every guest saw appear a monstruous creature that was quite similar to your borther, and then they saw them killing several guests and guards... and then he took Miss Hooper..." The last part he said it in a whisper. Mycroft almost felt pity on him, it was obvious he was worried about her, but he had to act according the plan. But if he had chosen to complicate his life with feelings that was his own problem, and Mycroft didn't want to have anything to do about it.

"Inspector." He said using a voice as cold as ice. "My brother has been dead for more than ten years. His lost was a hard blow to the Holmes family, our parents still mourn his death. And now you are here telling me that my little brother is still alive!" He carefully put an enraged and indignated tone to the last shouted part of the phrase. Luckily it had the desired effect, because Inspector Lestrade lowered his gaze ashamed.

"You're right, I'm sorry to have brought the subject. But anyway, that creature is still free, and no matter who or what he is, he's hurting people. Good evening." Before Mycroft could do or say anything, Lestrade was already gone.

Only when a few minutes had passed, Mycroft allowed himself to breath and relax on his chair. That had been close and he doubted he could remain on his role of 'Sad Big brother' for too long. Not if his brother continued killing people. However, now at least they could retain him for some time in the basement. For how much time, he didn't know.

* * *

><p>Sherlock doubted he had ever felt more humiliated and powerless than now. Not even when he was on that dreadful boarding school.<p>

He felt so useless and bored that that angered him. And given by the way he had behaved those days, he didn't think that getting angry could be good for him or the city of London. So, he vowed himself to stay strong and control his temper.

However, though he was never going to admit it, he was cold and hungry. It didn't matter that his body was stronger now that it once was, he still couldn't deny his basic needs for too long.

Sherlock wondered how long it would take to his 'friends' and 'family' to notice that they had to feed and take care of their 'pet'. Because Sherlock was clear that that's how they were going to treat him. They saw him as an animal, well, he was going to behave like the animal he was. They were going to find what hell was to live with a wild animal.

The basement door opened and Sherlock's body went stiff, thinking it was his brother with his cruel unconcern or John with his pitying looks. However, he saw it was just Mrs. Hudson with a tray of

food and he allowed his body to relax.

"Yoo-hoo! Here we go, dear." She said in a chipper tone that caused Sherlock to scoff, "Molly was insisting me to bring you something tasty to eat. She told me that you hadn't eaten much lately and that worried her. She also asked me to bring you some blankets, as she didn't want you to get sick. The basement must be so cold and wet..."

Mrs Hudson continued rambling, but Sherlock didn't listen to her. He was still amazed at the news. Nobody had worried so much about his well being, other than his mother when he was a kid and sometimes, Mrs. Hudson. But on his adulthood, he rarely had met someone so worried about him. A cold panic came through him when he felt a strange warm rush through his chest, he almost stated hyperventilating. Luckily, Mrs Hudson didn't notice his aggravated state, and if she did, she didn't say anything, knowing how hard it was for Sherlock to express what he was feeling.

Sherlock contiued with his internal debate, fearing that the true about what he was feeling would crush him if he dared to accept it.

It was only when Sherlock was left alone with his thoughts that he had the enough courage to express aloud what was ruling his thoughts.

"My God... I'm in love with her."

Five words, they were so simple. But at the same time they could cause so much pain.

For the first time in all his life, Sherlock felt utterly lost.


End file.
